y 


MARRIED  BENEATH  HIM, 


A   KOVEL. 


BY    JAMES    P  A  YN. 

AOTHOE  OF   "LOaT  SIB  MAS3IXGBERD,"  "THE  CLTtFABDS  OF  CLTFFE,"  "AT  HEE  KEBCT, 

"  FALLEN  FORTUNES,"  '•  FOUND   DEAD,"  "  A  PERFECT  TREASCKE,"'  "  CARLTON'S  YEAB," 

"GWENDOLINE'S   HARVEST,"  "ONE  OF   THE  FAMILY,"  ''WOMAN'S  VENGEANCE," 

"a  BEGGAR  ON  HORSEBACK;  OB,  A  COUNTY  FAMILY,"  "WALTER'S  WORD," 

"WON — NOT  WOOED,"    "BRED    IN    THE     BONE,"    "CECIL    TBYST," 

"the    best    OF   HUSBANDS,"     "  MUEPHY'S     MASTER,"     ETC. 


^^Take  thus  much  of  my  counsel.    Marry  not 
In  haste;  for  he  that  takes  the  best  of  totves,^ 
Puts  on  a  g Aden  fetter;  for  wives  sometimes, 
Are  like  to  painted  fruit,  u-hich  promise  much. 
But  still  deceive  us,  when  we  come  to  touch  them.''* 


NEvr  YORK: 

THE  F.  M.  LUPTO^:   PUBLISHING   COMPANY, 

Nos.  72-76  Walker  Street. 


CONTEXTS. 


Chapiter  Page 

I. — THE  EOrXD  AT   CASTERTOX 21 

II. — THE  CHOICE   OF   A   PE0FES5I0X 2j 

in. — DUMB  3rOUTHS 4<  • 

TV. — THE   EEV.   ROBERT    MOEEIT 47 

V. — A   day's   hawking    AXD   ITS   EESITLTS 60 

TI. — AN   EDITOR   OIT   OF   TOWN 7o 

VII. — ACROSS    THE   TTALNTTS   AND   THE    WINE So 

Tin. — THE   SHADOW   IN    THE   HOUSE 03 

IX. — THE  infoe:meb 1(1.;; 

X. — DEPAETED Ill 

XI. — :NnNT:M  hael 11< 

XII. — MONSIEUR    DE   EEENAY 129 

Xin. — THE  YOUNG   SQUIRE 14() 

XIV. — THE   SUPPEE-PAETY ; I55 

XV. — A   TEIP    TO    OLDBOEOUGH It31 

XVI. — MARY   PEELING   AT   HOME 171 

XVII. — THE  vov.- 277 

XVin. — THE  PRINCIPAL   IN  HIS  STUDY 1S6 

XLS. — THE  LOST   SISTER Ipo 

XX. — THE   KIDNAPPERS -Jnl 

XXI. — THE   MORAL    OF    IT 210 

XXn. — M.   DE   LERNAY's    second  SON-IN-LAW 219 

(19) 

684785 


20  C  O  X  T  E  y  T  S  . 

Chapter  Page 

XXIII. — CLOUDLESS 230 

XX^V^ — A   XIGHT-AVALK   IX   LONDOX 238 

XXV.— EDITORIAL 253 

XXVI. — KECREAXT 262 

XXVII. — THE    BOHEMIAXS 2Cll 

XXVIII. — EVIL    TIDIXGS 277 

XXIX. — CUTTING   THE   PAINTER ' 

XXX. — AX   UNWELCOME    PATRON 2'." 

XXXI. — LIFE   WITHOUT   BUTCHERS'    BILLS 301 

XXXII. — SOMEBODY   COMING 307 

XXXIII. — NOT  A    HAPPY   FA3IILY 312 

XXXIV. — GATHERED    THREADS 323 

XXXV. — POTTS    PERE 329 

XXXVI. — VI   ET  ARMS  A-KIMBO 341 

XXXVII. — EAVES-DROPPING 347 

XXXVIII. — THE  DRAWING-ROOM  AND  SECOND   FLOOR 355 

XXXIX. — THE    AFTER-SUPPER 3G4 

XL. — THE    VIGIL 367 

XLI. — KIND    INQUIRIES 3/4 

XLII.— AN   INTERESTING   EVENT o6'2 

XLIII.— A   FRIEND   IN   NEED 39S 

XLIV. — THE   TEXT   FROM   SAMUEL '^^-  '' 

XLV.— FOREWARNED    AND  FOREARZMED -11 - 

XLVI. — PUBLICITY ^-  " 

XLVII. — FOR   THE    PROSECUTION ^-- 

XLVIII.— FOR    THE    DEFENCE ^-^'^ 

XLix.— WHAT   one's  FRIENDS   REALLY   THINK   OF   ONE 443 

L.— REST   AND   BE   THANKFUL • 4o3 


MARRIED   BENEATH   HIM 


BY  ja:mes  payx. 

ArXHOE    OF    '"LOST    SIR    ilA'sSIXa^ESD. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE   EOUXD   AT    CASTERTOX. 

CASTERTOX  is  a  village  in  a  veiy  rura.  part  of 
Eogland.  Oar  story  opens  at  a  spot  about  a  mile 
from  it,  high  up  on  the  lone  and  desolate  downland, 
which  stretches  away,  fenceless  and  limitless,  on  all  sides, 
like  an  ocean  or  a  prairie.  Like  a  prairie,  too,  the  earth 
is  covered  with  flowers,  but  sa  minute  as  not  to  affect  the 
color  of  the  landscape,  which  is  grass-green  everywhere, 
except  where  the  shining  chalk  roads  slash  it  with  white. 

Although  it  is  early  this  summer  morning,  and  the 
dew  has  not  left  the  grass,  two' boys  of  about  sixteen  or 
so  are  sitting  upon  it— at  the  foot  of  what  seems,  and  is, 
a  mightv  rampart  circling  away  behind  them — as  though 
rheumatism  was  as  difficult  a  thing  to  catch  as  hares. 

"AVillum's  late  this  morning,"  observed  the  shorter 
but  more  thicklv-built  of  the  two  lads,  whose  eyes  had 
been  fixed  steadilv  on  the  village  for  several  minutes. 

''I  wish  vou'd  say  William" Jack,  and  not  Willum/' 
returned  the  other,  laying  his  hand  kindly  on  his  friend's 
shoulder,  as  though  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  oifence. 

(21) 


22  MAKEIED      BEXEATH      HIM. 

"  \Yhat's  the  good?"  replied  the  first  speaker.  '^  Wil- 
hini's  easiest.  Everybody  ain't  such  a  deuced  clever 
fellow  as  you,  Fred.  Willum's  what  father  calls  it,  and 
"Will urn  does  for  me." 

^•But  your  father  wanted  you  to  ride  Grandsirc, 
which,  he  said,  had  done  for  him  very  well,  and  might 
for  you.  Jack;  but  nothing  would  serve  you  to  go  hunt- 
ing upon  that  was  in  the  stable,  and  he  must  needs  buy 
for  you  that  long-tailed,  thin-legged — " 

''  There's  not  a  better  pony  in  the  county,"  roared 
Jack  Meyrick,  angi:ily.  "  I'll  bet  he  shows  you  his  tail 
the/irst  tiai^;we;go- into  the  vale  this  year,,  my  boy. 
Thin  legs,  indeed'!^ 'why,  everybody  but  a  gaby  would 
know  that hi^  kg.^  Gv.gld'Xo  be  thin." 
\:  '/i  didn't  say  they  oughtn't,"  quoth  the  other,  laugh- 
ino".  "You  know  a  o;reat  deal  more  about  horses  than  I 
do,  Jack." 

"Ay,  I  believe  you;  I  rather  just  think  I  do,"  was 
the  unmitigated  reply.  "  Why  don't  Willum  come,  I 
wonder?  Let  us  cross  the  ditch  and  climb  the  mound, 
and  then  Ave  shall  be  sure  to  see  him." 

"  Ditch  !  mound  !  AVhy,  my  dear  Jack,  don't  you 
know  what  happened  here  ?  " 

"  Eight  well  I  do,  lad.  It  was  in  this  very  place  that 
we  picked  five-and-twenty  pounds  of  nmslirooms  in  one 
afternoon  last  year.  '  Charlotte  pickles  'em  precious  welL 
I  like  piclvled  mushrooms,  I  do." 

"'Ay ;  but  I  mean  what  happened  here  before  last  year 
— when  every  blade  of  grass  was  drenched  in  blood. 
Jack,  and  spear  and  sword  cut  into  the  naked  flesh  of 
our  fathers — " 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  interrupted  Meyrick,  sturdily. 
"  That's  one  of  the  tales  you  are  always  making  out,  and 
repeating  till  you  believe  it  yourself.  Do  you  suppose 
my  mother  wouldn't  have  told  me  if  anything  like  that 
hffd  happened  to  the  governor?  Pooh !  And  your  father 
a  doctor,  too  ?  Why,  who  would  ever  have  fought  with 
hhn  on  Leckhamslev  Round  ?     It's  ridiculous  !  " 


Til-  -  ASTEilTG>.  23 

"  I  mean  our  foi'cfluliers,  Jack — our  ancestors.  They 
.crossed  this  fosse  upon  the  naked  bodies  of  their  slain ; 
they  had  only  clubs  for  the  most  part,  while  they,  upon 
the  rampart  there,  were  cased  in  armor,  and  had  swords 
and  spears.  They  say  that  thirty  thousand  Britons 
perished  in  this  one  trench,  only  a  few  hundreds  in  the 
next,  and  not  one  lived  to  reach  the  top  of  the  mound. 
And  yet  the  place  is  not  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  away, 
and  was  ^^rotected  by  no  other  defence  than  we  see  now. 
Doesn't  that  seem  strange,  Jack  ?  " 

"Ay,  strange  enough,*'  muttered  ]Meyrick,  with  a  sigh, 
for  iiistorical  allusion  always  oppressed  him,  as  partaking 
of  the  nature  of  ''  lessons,"  which  he  held  should  never 
be  administered  to  a  chap  unless  when  at  school,  and  it 
was  now  holiday-time.  '^  But  bother  all  that !  I'll  bet 
you  threepence  that  I'll  be  on  the  top  of  the  mound 
before  you." 

"'  Done  I  "  exclaimed  Frederick,  tossing  his  long,  dark 
hair  as  an  impatient  horse  his  mane.  "  There  are  some 
stones  there — on  the  very  spot,  perhaps,  where  the  eagles 
stood ;  we  will  see  w'ho  can  touch  them  first." 

"  Eagles  I  Come,  I'm  not  a-going  to  stomach  thatj 
Master  Galton.  I  mayn't  be  a  bookworm,  but  I  am  not 
such  a  dolt  as  you  would  make  me  out.  Plovers  I've 
seen,  and  quails  I've  seen  ;  but  if  ever  an  eagle  stood 
upon  Leckhamsley  Eound — •  Well,  I'm  not  a-going  to 
argey  about  it.     One,  two,  three,  and  off!  " 

In  half  a  minute  they  were  neck  and  neck,  nose  and 
nose,  at  the  stones  that  marked  the  summit  of  the  Round, 
as  the  old  camp  was  called  at  Casterton.  Xo  wonder 
that  the  wily  Roman  fixed  his  station  there.  Four 
counties  could  his  sentinels  descry  from  it,  and  all  the 
approaches  from  the  country  round.  The  two  concentric 
circles  of  fosse  and  rampart  were  as  plainly  visible  as 
though  they  had  been  dug  yesterday,  and  must  have 
been"  garrisoned,  all  antiquaries  agree,  by  at  least  a 
legion.  Jack  Meyrick  must  have  heard  something  of 
this,  notwithstanding  that  he  seemed  so  taken  aback  by 


24  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

his  friend's  historical  enthusiasm,  for  the  place  was  the 
lion  of  Casterton.  Mr.  Morrit,  the  curate,  Frederick's, 
uncle,  had  even  written  a  guide  to  it,  containing  such 
minute  information  that,  if  the  ancient  Britons  had  but 
possessed  a  copy,  they  might  have  known  where  to 
storm,  and  made  straight  for  the  general's  tent  without 
inquiry.  After  a  little  discussion  as  to  who  had  won 
the  race,  which  could  not  be  settled  satisfactorily,  "I 
wonder  whether  Agricola  was  ever  here?"  muttered 
Frederi(;k,  musincrlv. 

"I  wonder  what  has  got  Willum?"  returned  the 
other,  impatiently. 

"  You  remember  who  Agricola  was,  Jack,  don't  you?^ 

"Yes,  to  be  sure  I  do—he's  in  that  confounded  gram, 
mar  :  agricola,  a  husbandman.'' 

'^  Well,  then,  I  ain  sure  he  was  never  here,"  exclaimed 
Frederick,  surveying  the  smooth,  green  flat  untouched 
by  ploughshare,  with  a  laugh.  Fred  was  that  very  rare 
specimen  of  boyhood,  a  humorist — a  wit  of  sixteen  years 
old,  and  he  felt  it  hard,  as  an  older  jester  would  have 
done,  to  have  said  a  good  thing  without  appreciation. 
Like  most  humorists,  too,  he  had  a  sensitive  nature,  and 
fearing  to  have  hurt  his  duller  companion's  feelings,  by 
laughfng  at  what  he  did  not  understand,  he  explained 
the\ittTcism.  Jack  did  not  see  it  yet.  He  explained  it 
the  second  time,  and  Jack  saw  it. 

"Ah,  I  see,"  quoth  he ;  "  and  there's  Willum  coming 
at  last." 

It  was  certainly  very  unsatisfactory  for  poor  Fred. 

^Yilliam,  Squire  ]\Ieyrick's  groom,  and  chief  of  the 
kennel,  could  now  indeed  be  easily  perceived  trotting 
smartly  up  the  long  hill  from  Casterton,  upon  his  mas- 
ter's gray.  Why  he  should  visit  the  Eound  at  that  early 
hour,  since  the  old  mare  was  by  no  means  in  want  of 
"exercising,"  and  it  was  probable  that  her  rider  had 
little  taste  for  the  archssological,  was  not  at  first  sight 
evident;  but  presently,  between  him  and  the  village 
there  appeared  Bob,  stable-help  and  master-of-the-dogs^ 


THE     ROUND     AT     CASTEETOX.  25 

accompanied  by  a  lad  still  lower  in  the  social  scale,  and 
by  a  long  line  of  greyhounds.  The  morning  was  raw 
and  even  cold  for  the  season,  and  each  of  the  dainty 
creatures  wore  a  sort  of  Liliputian  horsecloth,  in  which  it 
tripped  along  like  any  conscious  beauty  in  her  new  man- 
tilla. Xow,  one  would  pause  a  moment  in  such  an  atti- 
tude of  expectation  as  might  break  a  sculptor's  heart  in 
the  vain  attempt  to  copy  it ;  or  strain  at  the  leash  which 
held  him,  with  his  lustrous  gazelle  eyes  fixed  on  the 
retreating  horseman.  When  the  latter  had  attained  the 
summit  of  the  Round  where  stood  the  young  gentlemen, 
he  made  a  signal  with  his  cap,  and  the  clothing  was 
instantly  removed  from  a  couple  of  greyhounds ;  he  blew 
on  a  silvei*  whistle,  and  they  were  slipped  and  sped  away 
towards  him  at  such  speed  as  scarcely  a  bird  of  the  air 
could  emulate.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight.  Their  long, 
fleet  legs  were  so  swiftly  laid  to  ground,  that  to  the  eye 
they  moved  not;  they  seemed  in  the  distance  to  skim 
the  turf  like  swallows;  but  as  the  competitors  drew 
nearer,  you  could  see  the  agile  limbs  make  play,  the  neck 
and  nose  outstretched,  but  not  too  low,  and  all  the  won- 
drous work  of  bone  and  sinew.  Mango  and  Mangonel! 
The  two  boys  cheered  as  though  a  thousand  others  beheld 
the  scene  in  their  company,  for  the  beautiful  strife  of 
speed  stirred  their  hearts  within  them.  '^Tll  lay  a  crown 
on  Mangonel,''  cried  Jack. 

''And  I  on  Mango,"  exclaimed  Fred,  in  haste,  lest,  ere 
he  could  end  speech,  his  dun  should  win. 

But  the  dun  did  not  win.  Coal-black  Mangonel  first 
reached  the  living  goal,  "William — well  pleased  to  see  his 
young  master  gain  his  wager — by  just  three-quarters  of  a 
nose.     It  was  a  great  race. 

"  The  mile,"  said  AVilliam,  looking  at  his  watch,  "was 
done  in  just  one  second  less  than  by  the  brown  bitch 
Mandragora.  You  mind  her,  Master  Jack — she  has 
broke  her  leg  a  jumping  from  the  cart  at  Ashdown  meet- 
ing.    ATe  had  bad  luck  all  that  day." 

Then  there  were  more  races,  for  the  whole  kennel  was 


26  M  A  E  R  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

to  be  breathed  that  morning ;  and  upon  each  the  two  boys 
betted,  and  upon  each  young  ^Nleyrick  won,  who  under- 
stood greyhounds  better  than  jeux  cV esprit  and  antiqua- 
rianism.  ^'  Let  us  bet  only  half-crowns/'  said  he,  after  a 
little,  either  because  he  did  not  wish  to  take  such  solid 
advantage  of  his  superior  knowledge,  or  because  he 
suspected  the  solvency  of  his  debtor. 

'^  Xo,  no  ;  crowns,  crowns,  I  say  ! ''  cried  Galtou,  im- 
patiently, for  his  blood  was  up ;  and  since  he  had  already 
lost  more  than  he  could  pay,  was,  as  is  usual,  exceedingly 
anxious  to  oamble.  But  even  when  he  had  the  choice 
of  dogs,  poor  Fred  always  chose  the  worse,  save  once ; 
and  even  then,  when  the  swifter  hound  was  his,  and 
leading  by  a  length,  the  creature  fell,  turning 'head  over 
heels,  in  accordance,  doubtless,  with  certain  laws  of 
motion,  but  very  much  in  opposition  to  I\Iaster  F. 
Galton's  hopes  and  wishes,  and  thereby  was  thrown  out 
and  beaten.  One  pound  ten  shillings  is  not  a  great  debt, 
in  the  eyes  of  some  young  gentlemen ;  but  when  one's 
pocket-money  is  only  half-a-crown  a  week,  and  one  has 
laid  nothing  by,  it  is  unpleasant  to  owe  it.  Debts  of  this 
kind  possess  the  disagreeable  attribute  of  making  you 
detest  your  creditor.  One  would  not  be  sorry,  somehow 
— though,  of  course,  the  inhuman  sentiment  is  but  transi- 
tory— if  he  should  instantly  be  removed  to  another  and 
happier  sphere,  through  the  dropping  of  a  tortoise  upon 
his  head  from  an  eagle's  beak,  for  instance,  or  other  pain- 
less and  classical  mode  of  sudden  extinction.  There 
would  then  be  no  necessity  for  paying  such  a  ridiculously 
small  sum  as  thirty  shillings'  to  his  executors  or  sorrowing 
relatives.  They  would,  even,  in  all  probability,  be  dis- 
tressed at  our  oifering  to  pay  it.  In  the  meantime,  how- 
ever, or  in  the  event  of  the  tortoise-accident  not  coming 
off  at  all,  there  is  the  cruel  necessity  of  putting  on  a 
cheerful,  nay,  even  a  jaunty  air,  and  looking  as  if,  of 
Charles  Fox's  two  greatest  pleasures  in  this  world,  that 
of  losing  was  to  ourselves  the  most  satisfactory. 

Poor  Frederick,  as  he  paced  homeward  beside  his  latp 


IKE     E  O  U  N  D     At     C  A  S  T  E  R  T  O  X .  27 

friend  and  the  men  and  dogs,  seemed  to  himself  like  a 
captive  in  the  triumphant  procession  of  his  conqueror, 
Jack.  The  parallel  may  actually  liave  presented  itself, 
and  a  Roman  triumph  along  the  Sacred  Way  have  been 
pictured  to  his  downcast  mind,  for  it  was  imaginative  in 
the  highest  degree,  and  well  stored  with  rich  materials ; 
but  if  it  did,  it  was  swept  away  almost  imm.ediately,  and 
the  simple  mathematical  expression  of  "-30  "  substituted 
in  its  place.  The  morning  grov/iug  brighter  and  warmer 
momently,  the  elasticity  of  the  down  on  which  he  trod, 
the  graceful  beauty  of  the  animals  that  picked  their  way 
so  carefully  yet  rapidly  beside  him — all  those  external 
objects,  in  short,  v/hich,  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
would  not  have  failed  to  give  pleasure  to  Frederick 
Galton's  mind,  as  responsive  to  all  such  influences  as  the 
^olian  harp  to  the  lightest  breeze,  were  now  unfelt,  un- 
recognized. The  whole  face  of  nature  was  obscure  to  him 
— as  it  has  been  to  many  a  wiser  and  worthier  man — by 
that  dirty  debt;  it  v/as,  for  that  matter,  just  as  thougii 
he  had  carried  the  money  in  his  eye.  His  tongue  uttered 
"  Good-morning,^'  as  the  party  cam.e  to  the  bridge  where 
the  footpath  struck  away  to  his  father's  house;  but  his 
heart  went.uot  with  it.  He  thought  it  was  the  v/orst 
morning  that  he  had  seen  for  a  very  long  time. 

In  this  violent  state  of  disapproval  of  the  vrorking  of 
the  whole  system  of  the  universe,  he  slammed  the  gate  of 
the  backyard  behind  him  almost  off  its  hinges;  he  kicked 
the  dog  that  ran  out  to  w'elcome  him  ;  he  scowled  at  the 
cook,  Avho  was  engaged  at  no  worse  occupation  than 
cleaning  the  potatoes  intended  for  his  own  dinner;  and 
brushing  quickly  by  the  breakfast-room  door  in  spite  of 
the  voice  that  hailed  him  so  cheerfully  from  within,  with 
"Fred,  my  boy,  the  muffins  are  getting  cold,"  he  ran 
straight  up  into  his  l)edroom  without  reply.  And  ail 
because  he  had  lost  thirty  shillings,  and  did  not  see  his 
way  to  pay  the  debt. 


28  MAE  EI  ED     B  EXE  AT  II     HIM. 

CHAPTER    II. 

THE   CHOICE   OF   A   PROFESSION. 

IF  Frederick  Galton  liad  been  a  lad  with  no  particular 
mental  inclination,  it  is  certain  that  he  would  have 
grown  up  to  be  a  surgeon.  Before  he  was  nine  he  had 
professionally  visited  all  the  neighborhood  within  a  radius 
of  ten  miles  round  Castcrton,  and  was  as  well  known  as 
liis  father,  the  doctor.  He  only  held  the  reins  and  sat  in 
the  gig,  it  is  true,  unless  when  he  was  hospitably  invited 
to  enter  and  be  regaled  with  brandy-cherries,  a  favorite 
mid-day  refreshment  in  the  Down  country,  and  excellently 
adapted  to  the  climate;  but  he  was  put  in  possession  of 
the  entire  case  as  soon  as  the  visit  was  over  and  the  gig- 
wheels  once  more  set  a- rolling.  He  got  quite  to  associate 
that  expostulatory  squeak  which  the  Down  gives  forth 
when  one  drives  over  it,  with  pathological  symptoms; 
and  to  identify  particular  spots — long  chalk-hill  roads, 
for  the  most  part,  where  enforced  tardiness  of  motion 
begat  verbal  prolixity — with  certain  tedious  diseases.  It 
was  a  disappointment  to  the  good  man  that  his  son  evinced 
no  passionate  interest  in  those  iive-Lancet  narratives,  as 
we  may  call  them — for  the  best,  that  is  to  say,  the  worst, 
of  the-  cases  often  found  their  way  into  the  columns  of  that 
journal,  and  made  the  most  private  ailments  of  many  an 
unconscious  rustic  the  theme  of  European  controversy, 
under  the  medical  nom  de  jylume  of  "  Mr.  A.,  a  gentleman 
of  phlegmatic  disposition  ; "  or  "  Mrs.  B.,  a  lady  of  full 
habit.'^  The  doctor  would  have  liked  to  have  seen 
Frederick's  leisure  devoted  to  amateur  experiments  in 
his  laboratory,  or  passed  in  company  with  the  electrical 
machine  at  least;  and  he  was  beyond  measure  distressed 
when  Ponto  (poaching)  had  the  misfortune  to  get  his 
near  foreleg  (it  was  very  nearly  "  ofP'')  in  a  gin,  that  the 
lad  could  not  even  be  induced  to  witness  the  operation  for 


THE     CHOICE     OF     A     PROFESSION.  29 

comj^ouiid  comminuted  fracture,  but  shut  his  eyes,  aud 
closed  his  ears  with  his  fingers. 

It  was  surprising  enough  that  Dr.  Gallon  should  wish 
his  son  to  embrace  a  profession  of  the  drawbacks  of  which 
he  had  had  himself  no  little  experience,  but  it  was  the 
case,  nevertheless.  If  he  had  been  a  bishop  instead  of  a 
parish  doctor,  he  could  not  have  dwelt  more  unctuously 
upon  the  advantages  of  his  calling.  Considering  all  cir- 
cumstances, this  liking,  indeed,  may  be  said  to  be  inex- 
plicable, save  upon  one  hypothesis — it  must  be  considered 
to  have  been  a  cerebral  affection,  and  if  we  might  have 
presumed  to  dictate  remedial  measures  to  a  medical  man, 
we  should  have  suggested  warm  water  for  his  body,  and 
the  placing  of  his  head  well  under  a  cold  shower-bath, 
until  the  symptoms  abated.  For  the  doctor's  experience 
had  been  as  follows.  When  Dr.  Galton  bought  the  medi- 
cal curacy  of  Casterton,  some  tv;enty-five  years  ago,  it 
returned  him  just  thirty  pounds  per  annum,  paid 
Cjuarterly.  The  Board  of  Guardians  might  have  made  a 
cheaper  bargain  with  an  inferior  man ;  but  such  an 
advantage  in  the  medical  profession  is  a  scientific  reputa- 
tion, that  they  elected  Mr.  William  Galton  in  preference 
to  all  other  competitors,  on  account  of  his  excellent  testi- 
monials. Besides  this  income,  there  was  an  extra  allow- 
ance, averaging  seven  pounds  a  year,  for  vaccinatioijS  and 
midwifery  cases ;  and,  moreover,  the  title  of  Doctor  was 
conferred,  not  by  courtesy,  but  because  the  neighborhood 
Ivuew  no  better.  There  were,  however,  two  thousand 
people  to  be  "  attended ''  for  this  money,  being  at  the  rate 
of  rather  over  threepence-halfpenny  ahead  per  annum; 
while  the  parish  being  straggling,  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  he  should  keep  a  horse.  He  had  also  to 
supply  medicine  gratuitously,  which  service  was  a  serious 
item,  because  he  had  the  misfortune  to  be  an  honest  man  ; 
otherwise,  he  might  have  stocked  a  small  dispensary 
with  diluted  drugs  and  sick  leeches  at  a  reasonable 
figure. 

The  usual  course  of  an  English  parish  doctor  (not  one 


30  MAE  EI  ED     BENEATH      HIM. 

of  whom,  not  even  the  late  Mr.  Pahner  of  Rugeley,  to 
their  honor  be  it  written,  has  yet  committed  the  justifiable 
homicide  of  poisoning  his  entire  Board  of  Guardians),  if 
it  runs  smoothly,  and  is  not  cut  short,  as  it  sometimes 
very  naturally  is,  by  debt,  disappointment  ending  in 
drink,  and  moonlight  departure  without  paying  the  rent, 
is  as  follows :  He  does  his  work  among  the  poor  (very 
hard  work  it  always  is,  and  aggravated  in  the  Down 
country  by  fogs  and  snow  drifts)  to  the  best  of  his  power, 
and  waits  patiently,  trusting  and  being  trusted,  for  an 
opportunity  of  exhibiting  his  skill  among  the  rich  folks^ 
whose  housekeepers  and  servants  are  in  the  meantime  his 
only  paying  patients,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  farmers' 
wives.  The  farmers  themselves  are  never  ill,  and  their 
consorts  often  prefer  to  resort  to  a  "  wise  \voman,''  to  cure 
their  maladies.  The  county  folks  always  send  a  mounted 
groom  into  the  neighboring  town  for  old  Dr.  Pouncet,  (in 
whom  they  have  '^  great  confidence,'")  and  are  shy  of 
calling  in  a  young  parish  doctor.  Accidents  and  apo- 
plexv,  however,  are  both,  luckily,  of  frequent  occurrence 
in  a  hunting  county,  and  the.-e  form  the  happy  chances, 
whose  skirts  the  new-comer  must  grasp,  and,  having 
grasped,  must  never  let  go  his  hold.  It  was  a  sudden 
emergency  of  this  kind  vrhich  first  brought  Dr.  Galton  to 
the  Grange  of  Casterton,  and  no  other  medical  man  was 
ever  sent'for  afterwards  to  Squire  Meyrick's.  This  Avas 
one  of  the  oldest  families  in  the  neighborhood,  although, 
in  social  cultivation,  from  their  having  been  buried  alive, 
as  well  as  dead,  at  Casterton  for  so  many  generations,  not 
much  above  the  rank  of  gentlemen-farmers.  Squire 
^^leyrick  had,  however,  as  great  a  disinclination  to  die  as 
the  most  polished  of  fine  gentlemen,  and  was  probably 
quite  as  grateful  as  any  such  w^ould  have  been  to  the  man 
who,  by  God's  help,' saved  his  life.  Dr.  Galton  had 
brought  him  home  from  what  had  been  likely  to  prove 
his  last  hunting-field.  AVhen  a  gentleman  of  sixteen 
stone  pitches  on  his  head  from  the  back  of  a  horse  of 
sixteen  hands,  the  vexed  cpiestion  of  whether  he  has  got 


THE     CHOICE     OF     A     PEOFESSIOX.  31 

any  brains  or  not,  is  in  a  fair  way  of  being  settled.  Mr. 
Meyrick,  by  getting  his  concussed,  silenced  the  voice  of 
detraction  triumphantly.  His  wife  never  forgot  the 
saving  help  which  the  kind  doctor  had  administered  on 
that  cold  Xovember  evening,  and  the  comfort  he  had 
spoken  to  her  aching  heart,  and  she  blew  his  professional 
trumpet  for  him  ever  aftervrards,  exaggerating,  after  the 
female  manner,  both  the  peril  which  her  goodman  had 
been  in  and  the  skill  which  had  averted  it ;  so  that  the 
doors  of  other  ^'  Granges,'^  "  Halls,"  and  '^  Houses  "  in 
Downland  were  soon  opened  wide  to  the  poor  parish 
doctor,  and  had  stood  so  ever  since. 

Whoever  had  seen  Dr.  Galton  by  their  bedside  in  the 
hour  of  danger,  was  eager  to  send  for  him  again  in  the 
like  calamity.  Xot  only  was  he — in  spite  of  the  discredit 
which  the  thing  obtains  among  the  fastidious  Faculty — a 
really  excellent  *^  General  Practitioner,"  but  also  an  agree- 
able gentleman.  In  place  of  the  one  dinner  per  annum  with 
the  squire,  and  the  two  with  the  rector,  but  too  often  the 
limit  of  hospitality  accorded  to  his  class — who  are  thereby 
driven  to  mix  with  the  lower  stratum  of  society,  a  clay  that 
is  but  too  apt  to  moisten  itself  with  gin  and  water — he 
became  a  favorite  guest  at  all  the  great  tables  round.  The 
county  families  were  quite  delighted  when  Dr.  Galton 
married  Ellen  Morrit,  the  curate  of  Casterton's  sister, 
instead  of  some  farmer's  daughter  or  other  person  "  whom 
it  would  have  been  quite  impossible,  you  see,  for  us  to 
visit;"  and  strengthened  by  this  alliance  with  the 
Church,  and  with  no  less  than  five  horses  in  his  stable 
(for  his  practice  had  grown  so  great  as  to  demand  that 
stud),  he  found  himself,  while  still  a  young  man,  in  a 
position  which  few  of  his  order  attain  to  at  the  close  of 
a  life's  labor. 

Mrs.  Galton  had  died,  however,  within  a  year  of  her 
marriage.  The  widower's  prosperity  continued,  but  he 
cared  little  for  it,  since  she  no  longer  shared  it.  He  had 
never  loved  worldly  gear  for  its  own  sake,  and  would 
probably  have  retired  from   practice,  had  she  not  left 


32  M  A  ERIE!)      BENEATH      HIM. 

him  a  son  to  profit  hy  liis  exertions,  the  birth  of  whom 
had  been  the  death  of  her  he  loved  so  dearly.     At  first 
the  child  had  been  almost  hateful  to  him  on  this  account ; 
but  as  he  grev\^  up  displaying  the  tender  sensibility  and 
affection,  as  well  as  much  of  the  personal  beauty  of  his 
mother,  his  heart  seemed  to  yearn  towards  him,  all  the 
more  that  it  had   been  at  one  time  unjustly  estranged. 
He  could  not  bear  to  send  the  lad  to  school,  out  of  his 
sight  and  superintendence ;  it  seemed  too  hard  that  he 
slfould  deprive  himself  of  that  one  comfort  in  his  desolate 
wifeless  home ;  to  hear  the  boy's  cry  of  welcome,  to  clasp 
his  hand,  to  kiss  his  cheek,  was  all  he  had  uovn'  to  look 
forward  to,  during  those  long  drives  over  the  dreary 
Downs ;  drives  wherein  for  years  the  widower  had  bit- 
terer companions  than  the  wind  and  snow,  in  the  un- 
bidden thoughts  of  his  own  heart,  wherein  the  love  light 
had    been   quenched   so  suddenly.     But    Time,  a  more 
certain  if  a  more  tardy  healer  than  any  of  the  Faculty, 
had  mitigated  even  this  grief;  and  when  Freddy  became 
old  enough  to  take  his  seat  beside  him  on  the  gig,  instead 
of  a  groom,  his  father's  eye  grew  bright  again,  though 
never  with  the  dancing  merriment  of  his  youth.     In  the 
innermost  shrine  of  his  heart's  temple  stood  the  veiled 
mute  figure  of  his  wife,  and  at  times  he  would  still  retire 
there,  to  worship  secretly;  but   his  son  now  filled   the 
rest  of  the  sacred  place,  and  liis  hopes  and  wishes  for 
him  were  constant  as  the  ever-burning  candles  of  the 
altar.     In  the  ante-chapel,  if  we  may  continue  the  meta- 
phor, was  admitted  Eobert  Morrit,  the  curate,  and  his 
close  neighbor,  the  only  brother  of  his  dead  wife,  and  he 
who,  next  to  himself,  held  her  memory  most  in  reverence. 
Dr.  Galton  excused  himself,  in  part,  for  not  sending  Fred 
to  school  because  uncle  Robert,  who  was  a  great  scholar 
as  well  as  a  good  priest,  had  volunteered  for  the  of&ce 
of  tutor,  which,  up  to  the  present  date,  he  had  discharged 
most  faithfully. 

"  Fred,  my  boy,  these   muffins  are  getting  excessively 
cold,"  exclaimed  the  doctor  for  the  second  time,  emerging 


THE     CHOICE     OF     A     PROFESSION.         33 

from  the  breakfast-rooin  into  the  little  white-washed  hall, 
and  holloaing  up  the  stairs  to  his  offspring. 

^^  Coming,  sir,"  replied  Frederick,  cheerily,  and  it  was 
no  waiter's  answer,  for,  as  he  uttered  it,  he  came,  taking 
the  staircase  in  three  flying  leaps.  He  was  in  the  best 
of  spirits  now,  for  he  had  hit  upon  a  plan  for  paying  the 
thirty  shillings ;  and  indeed  the  thermometer  of  his 
spirits  was  apt  to  sink  and  rise  between  nadir  and  zero 
with  a  rapidity  quite  disproportioned  to  any  actual 
change  in  the  temperature  of  his  circumstances. 

"  Coming  down-stairs  like  that  is  the  very  thing  to 
injure  the  jmtella,  Fred ;  but  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so 
nimble.  There  are  very  few  things  v.hich  denote  a  vigor- 
ous mind  more  certainly  than  activity  of  motion.'' 

"  Then  Mr.  Meyrick's  greyhounds  ought  to  be  great 
geniuses,  father :  you  should  have  seen  them  racing  up 
the  ground  this  morning;  Mangonel  did  the  distance  in 
the  shortest  time,  confound  him ;  but — "  The  young 
man  blushed  and  hesitated;  he  would  not  have  let  his 
father  know  he  had  been  betting,  for  a  great  deal  more 
than  what  he  had  lost. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  blush,  my  boy.  ^Yhy  should 
you  make  use  of  such  a  term  as  ^  confound  him,'  instead 
of 'I  am  sorry  to  say?'  And  why  should  you  be  sorry 
that  Mangonel,  of  all  dogs,  should  have  won?" 

"  He  is  a  black  dog,"  returned  the  lad,  "  and  I  hate 
black  dogs :  the  other  was  a  dun." 

''  You  like  a  dun,  do  you  ?  "  observed  the  doctor,  dryly. 
^'  It  is  very  few  of  us  who  can  say  so  much  as  that." 
And  the  father  laughed  as  one  who  does  not  make  so 
good  a  joke  every  day  in  the  year ;  and  the  son  laughed 
joyously  back  again,  because  he  saw^  his  father  was 
pleased.  Fred  loved  his  parent  dearly,  and  (which  is 
not  ^always  the  case  with  even  the  most  dutiful  of  off- 
spring) always  enjoyed  his  company. 

We  may  respect,  nay  love,  an  individual  very  highly, 
and  yet  prefer  a  tete-d-tete  v^ith  a  far  less  worthy  fellow- 
creature.     There  must  be  something  of  an  elder  brother, 

9 


34  MAE  EI  ED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

perhaps,  too,  of  a  sister  also,  ia  a  man  who  would  have 
his  son  to  choose  him  for  a  companion  ;  and  this  Dr. 
Galton  had.  Had  the  pair  but  been  a  little  more  similar 
in  disposition — even  in  their  faults — the  boy  would  have 
reposed  every  confidence,  every  confession  of  shame  and 
sin,  in  his  father's  breast,  loving  as  it  was  as  that  of  a 
woman,  and  filled  with  the  large  charity  of  a  good  man ; 
but  unhappily  their  characters  had  nothing  in  common. 
They  were  within  a  very  little  of  that  confidential  relation 
(so  often  rendered  impossible  by  the  senior)  which,  once 
established  between  parent  and  offspring,  offers  the  surest 
safeguard  to  the  latter  to  be  found  on  earth ;  but  they 
had  just  missed  it.  Frederick  was  well  aware  that  any 
vice,  nay,  almost  any  crime,  would  be  forgiven  by  his 
father,  if  he  did  but  confess  it  penitently,  but  he  also 
knew  that  it  would  not  find  extenuation.  Dr.  Galton 
was  much  the  reverse  of  a  hard  man,  and  would  certainly 
be  considered  by  most  persons  as  an  over-lenient  one ; 
but  his  son,  who  knew  him  thoroughly  (and  who,  indeed, 
young  as  he  was,  could  read  the  characters  of  most  men 
he  fell  in  with),  was  well  av.are  that  the  very  inclination 
for  certain  vices — such  as  that  of  betting  more  than  you 
can  afford  upon  a  dog-race — v.as  wanting,  and  never  liad 
any  existence  witliin  his  father's  breast ;  that  he  v.ould 
have  called  it  by  some  harsher  name  than  it  deserved, 
and  ascribed  it,  not  to  the  excitement  of  emulation  (vrhich 
was  the  complacent  view  the  boy  took  of  the  matter}, 
but  to  some  devilish  impulse  almost  unknown  to  the 
human  breast.  The  doctor  was  of  a  calm,  quiet,  even 
temperament,  prudent,  though  far  from  worldly,  unim- 
pulsive,  and  undemonstrative.  Frederick  was  impetu- 
ous, enthusiastic,  with  feelings  easily  moved,  and  features 
that  must  needs  at  once  express  his  feelings,  even  in  the 
rare  case  of  his  obtaining  the  mastery  of  his  tongue ; 
passionate,  too,  he  was,  and  self-confident  beyond  tlie 
vrarrant  of  his  really  extraordinary  talents.  A  bishop's 
cob  and  an  unbroken  colt  from  the  prairies  would  have 
made  a  less  dissimilar  pair..     It  is  gbyious  that  the  latter 


THE     CHOICE     OF     A     PROFESSION.         35 

must  commit  more  escapades  on  the  highway  of  life  than 
his  lordship's  respectable  nag,  who  would  also  be  quite 
unable  to  account  for  the  eccentricities  of  his  yoke-fellow. 

•^Talking  of  duns/'  continued  the  doctor,  "reminds 
one  of  year's  of  discretion  and  responsibility.  You  can- 
not be  passing  such  humdrum  days,  lad,  all  your  life,  as 
those  yoii  spend  in  Casterton." 

"Whv  not,  father?  Why  should  I  leave  you  and 
uncle  Robert?  I  am  quite  content  with  my  nag  and 
such  hunting  and  coursing  as  I  can  get,  I  do  assure  you. 
If  you  are  not  desirous  of  getting  rid  of  me,  I  would 
willingly  remain  here  always,  even  if  you  were  not  so 
good  as  to  keep  a  horse  for  me.  With  bat-folding  in 
winter,  and  hoop-trundling  on  the  Downs  in  summer,  I 
should  be  quite  content." 

"Hoop-trundling  in  your  seventeenth  year!  I  was 
really  quite  ashamed  to  see  you  and  young  Jack  Meyrick 
yesterday  going  out  with  your  hoops.'' 

"Ah,  but  if  you  had  been  with  us,  father,  you  would 
have  thought  it  capital  fun.  The  wind  was  nor'-west, 
so  we  started  them  from  the  top  of  Kempsey  Dovrn  ; 
and  after  giving  them  two  minutes'  grace,  my  hoop  was 
past  the  windmill,  and  Jack's  rising  the  hill  out  of  the 
bottom  more  than  a  mile  away.  When  they  came  to 
ruts  or  roads,  they  would  leap  like  deer.  Mine  took  the 
Ridgev>ay  in  three  bounds,  upon  my  honor.  We  could 
scarcely  have  overtaken  them,  I  do  believe,  if  we  had 
been  on*  horseback.  We  had  a  run  of  just  three  miles, 
and  found  them  not  fifty  yards  apart  in  Whitcomb 
Warren.  If  they  had  not  been  stopped  by  the  furze, 
thev  would  have  gone  riglit  down  to  the  London 
Road." 

"  Well,  that  is  better  than  going  out  with  a  hoop  and 
a  stick  into  the  streets,  Fred,  I  allow,"  returned  the 
doctor,  rather  carried  away  by  this  exciting  relation ; 
"  but  still  a  hoop-hunt  is  not  a  pursuit  to  last  your  life. 
What  do  vou  suppose  uncle  Robert  teaches  you  Greek 
and  Latin  for?" 


:J6  M  A  Ell  IE  D     BENEATH     HIM. 

"  Oh,  tbat^s  for  the  wet  clays,  father,  when,  I  suppose, 
I  should  be  rather  dull  without  my  hoop." 

^^Ah,  Fred,  Fred,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  taking  him 
])y  the  ear,  and  pinching  it  kindly,  '^you  are  not  going 
to  get  out  of  a  serious  truth  this  morning  by  any  such 
show  of  simplicity.  You  know,  you  young  dog,  as  w^ell 
as  possible  what  I  am  driving  at,  and  you  are  moving 
that  the  question  be  put  again  this  day  six  months,  after 
the  parliamentary  manner ;  but  it  is  really  time  that  this 
matter  w^as  discussed." 

'^  Very  well,  father,"  returned  the  boy,  with  downcast 
eyes,  and  fingers  busy  with  the  corner  of  the  breakfast- 
<ioth. 

"There  is  one  way,  and  one  alone,  my  lad,  by  which 
}ou  may  yet  live  all  your  days  in  this  peaceful  village, 
where,  if  there  are  no  great  excitements,  there  are  also 
no  temptations,  and  where  you  are  as  likely  to  find 
happiness — the  greatest  happiness,"  sighed  the  doctor, 
thinking  of  that  one  cloudless  year  of  his  own  life — "as 
anywhere  in  this  world.  There  would  be  an  interval, 
of  course,  when  you  will  be  up  in  London  learning  your 
profession ;  but  after  that  you  can  return  hither,  become 
my  partner,  and  indeed  succeed  to  my  duties  as  soon 
;is  you  please.  Even  in  case  of  your  marriage,  there 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  go  elsewhere.  AYe  have 
lived  too  long  together,  I  think,  Fred,  to  have  mis- 
U'ivino-s  about  dwellino;  under  the  same  roof.  I  don't 
think  I  could  bear  to  part  with  you,  my  bov,  even  to  a 
wife." 

Dr.  Galton  rose  from  his  seat,  blew  his  nose  with  un- 
necessary violence,  and  looked  out  of  the  window  with 
intensity.  Frederick  followed  him,  and  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  shoulder,  whispered  hoarsely:  "Is  there  no  way 
of  remaining  with  you  but  this,  father?  Must  I  be  a 
surgeon?" 

"  Have  you  the  same  strange  antipathy  to  my  profes- 
sion, Frederick,  as  when  you  were  a  child?" 

"  Yes,  father,  quite  the  same.     I  feel  I  have  not  the 


THE     CHOICE     OF     A     PROFESSION.         37 

heart,  the  nej've,  for  this  co id-blooded  cutting  and  carv- 

"  Then  you  will  not  insist,  of  course,  upon  entering  the 
army  or  navy  ?  "  interrupted  the  doctor,  eagerly. 

"  Xo,  father,"  replied  the  lad,  with  a  smile;  "although 
I  do  not  think  they  are  open  to  quite  the  same  objection." 

"  Then  there  is  the  Church,"  continued  the  doctor  with 
cheerfulness;  for  he  had  felt  that  liis  darling  hope  of 
Fred's  embracing  his  own  profession  liad  but  slight 
chance  of  being  realized,  and  was  comforted  to  think 
that  the  lad  at  least  entertained  no  de-sire  for  roaming. 

"  You  must  go  to  college  and  get  ordained,  and  then 
you  can  come  here  and  help  your  uncle  to  do  the  duty, 
and  take  his  place  when  he  is  gone  (which  God  forbid, 
however,  should  happen  these  many  years);  and  thus 
you  will  be  among  old  friends  for  all  your  days." 

It  was  touching  to  watch  the  doctor's  weather-beaten 
features  as  they  brightened  in  the  contemplation  of  this 
picture  of  his  son's  iuture.  He  already  congratulated 
himself  upon  having  secured  the  lad  to  himself  for  life ; 
he  felt  the  comfort  of  having  set  him  out  of  the  reach  of 
many  dangers,  temporal  and  spiritual,  which  never  could 
assail  him  in  Casterton,  and  of  having  marked  out  for  him 
a  sequestered  channel  of  existence,  which,  since  he  had 
himself  found  deep  contentment  in  it,  he  did  not  doubt 
was  eminently  suited  to  the  happiness  of  his  son. 

"Alas,  father!"  murmured  Frederick,  with  great  un- 
willingness to  efface  the  cheerful  picture  which  he  knew 
was  presenting  itself  to  the  doctor's  mind,  "I  fear  I  shall 
never  have  a  call  that  way." 

"A  call,  Frederick ! "  repeated  the  other,  almost  an- 
grily, "  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean.  I  am  surprised 
at  hearing  you  make  use  of  such  a  vulgar  expression,  fit 
only  for  Ranters.  I  wonder  what  your  uncle  would 
say ! "  For  Dr.  Galton  was  High  Church,  as  was  his 
brother-in-law — a  fact  which  was  not  displeasing  to  nine- 
tenths  of  the  gentry  round.  We  do  not  say  that  if  it 
had   been  otherwise  the  doctor  would    have  been  Low 


38  [MARRIED     B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HIM. 

Ciiarcli,  but  it  is  certain  he  would  }ia\^  objected  to  the 
word  "  call  ^'  with  soujewhat  less  asperity.  Or  i)erhaps 
the  truth  is,  that  parish  doctors  see  so  much  of  those  who 
are  in  want  of  religion  altogether,  that  they  cannot  dis- 
tinguish between  the  more  delicate  shades  of  it,  but  take 
them  on  trust  from  the  eyes  of  those  who  have  greater 
leisure  to  draw  fine  distinctions. 

^^  Well,  father,  whatever  we  may  please  to  term  it,  a 
man  ought  to  feel  something  of  that  sort  before  becoming 
-a  clergyman." 

"I  am  quite  sure  your  uncle  Morrit  never  felt  any- 
thing so  very  ridiculous.  Th^se  *  callings'  and  ^groan- 
ings'  and  ^movings'  are  nothing  in  the  v/orld  but 
peculiar  forms  of  hysteria,  sometimes,  I  believe,  compli- 
cated by  colic." 

"  Uncle  Robert  was,  you  know,  in  some  measure  com- 
pelled to  take  orders  to  retain  his  fellowship,"  readied 
Frederick,  gravely ;  "  but  when  he  became  a  parish 
priest,  lie  told  me  himself,  that  he  began  to  think  of 
ordination  very  differently.  One  does  say,  you  know,  in 
that  service,  that  you  '  trust  you  are  moved  by  the  Holy 
Ghost  to  take  this  office  upon  you.' " 

"  That's  very  true,"  returned  the  good  doctor,  who 
had,  however,  been  by  no  means  aware  of  the  fact.  "I 
am  sure,  my  lad,  I  am  the  last  person  to  force  you  into  a 
])rofession  for  which  you  are  not  suited;  but  I  confess  I 
don't  like  the  law." 

"  Xor  I,  father ;  neither  law  nor  lawyers." 

Fred  was  generalizing  rather  freely  from  the  particular 
case  of  a  country  attorney  who  had  lately  managed  to 
mulct  his  friend  Meyrick  (or  rather  the  squire)  in  the 
sum  of  seventeen  pounds,  including  costs,  ibr  breaking 
down  a  certain  fence,  which  their  ponies  vrere  unable  to 
surmount,  and  in  vrhich  offence  Jack  had  been  aided  and 
abetted  by  Fred. 

"There  is  nothing  left  but  the  Church,  you  see,"  ob- 
served the  doctor,  brightening  again;  "and,  doubtless, 
when  you  have  been  to  college,  and  had  your  mind  led 


THE     CHOICE     OF     A     PROFESSIOX.         39 

to  that  subject  for  a  year  or  two,  you  will  tliink  differ- 
ently, and  be  able  to  take  orders  with  a  good  conscience, 
after  all." 

Here  the  doctor's  buggy  came  round  in  front  of  the 
window,  which  was  a  great  relief  to  both  the  parties  en- 
gaged in  the  above  conversation.  Each  of  them  dreaded 
that  a  conclusion  should  be  finally  arrived  at  contrary  to 
his  inclination ;  and  each  of  them  trusted  to  time  to  effect 
his  desired  object. 

*'  Perhaps  it  will  be  so/'  faltered  Fred,  ''  for  no  one 
can  answer  for  himself  so  far  ahead.  I  am  sure  I  hope 
it  will,  father,  for  your  sake." 

The  doctor  kissed  his  forehead,  which  he  liad  rarely 
done  since  the  lad  had  been  cpiite  a  child,  and  tolerably 
content,  prepared  himself  for  his  long  day's  round. 

Fred  helped  him  into  his  great-coat,  buttoned  the  gig 
apron  down  when  lie  was  seated,  and  inquired  whether 
he  had  his  flask  of  sherry  with  him,  which  he  would 
else  have  left  behind.  It  seemed  as  tliough  he  could  not 
do  enough  to  show  his  anxiety  for  his  father's  comfort. 
When  the  vehicle  at  last  departed,  he  watched  it  from  the 
stone  steps  before  the  cottage-door,  as  it  wound  its  way 
along  the  great  chalk-track  to  the  Downs.  For  several 
minutes  he  felt  ungrateful  and  undutiful  to  so  kind  a 
parent,  who  worked  so  hard  and  so  ungrudgingly  for 
him — not  for  not  acceding  to  his  wishes  at  once  in  the 
matter  of  the  Church,  but  for  withholding  from  him  In's 
own  secret  intentions — his  settled  purpose  of  adopting 
none  of  the  professions  of  which  his  father  spoke,  but 
something  else,  which  he  had  long  ago  fixed  upon  in  his 
own  mind.  *Mnd  yet,"  murmured  he,  apologetically, 
'^  what  would  have  been  the  use,  if  I  had  told  him  ?  I 
know  so  well  he  would  never  have  undei^tood  me." 


40  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

CHAPTER    III. 

DUMB   MOUTHS. 

THAT  unexhilarating  tragedy,  the  "Seven  against 
Thebes"  of  jEschylus,  was  the  book  which  Mr. 
Frederick  Galton  was  to  take  up  to  his  uncle  and  tutor 
that  morning,  and  he  revisited  his  bedroom  to  get  it. 
As  a  grown  man  is  known  by  the  sort  of  companions  he 
keeps,  so  the  character  of  a  youth  is  indicated  by  the 
furniture  he  gathers  round  him  in  his  private  apartment. 
If  for  tlie  bell-haudlc  he  has  substituted  a  fox's  brush, 
and  there  are  three  hunting  whips  in  different  stages  of 
decay  upon  the  mantlepiece,  we  are  not  surprised  to  find 
his  library  but  scanty,  and  his  edition  of  the  poets  lim- 
ited to  a  sixpenny  AVarbler,  containing  what  are  called 
comic  songs,  but  compared  to  which  Methodistic  hymns 
are  lively. 

If,  again,  everything  is  scrupulously  neat,  and  the 
bookshelves  arranged  with  a  view  of  displaying  the  bind- 
ings, one  may  feel  satisfied,  even  without  finding  a  night- 
cap neatly  folded  upon  the  pillow,  that  the  lad  will  never 
die  of  brain-fever,  or  attempt  to  revolutionize  the  glo- 
rious constitution  of  his  native  land.  While,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  a  few  devotional  works  acquire  an  undue  promi- 
nence, and  are  ostentatiously  left  out  on  the  table  by  his 
bedside,  we  would  not  answer  for  what  he  might  do,  nor 
on  any  account  have  the  run  of  his  private  desk  or  secret 
drawers.  Xay,  if  a  slight  tinge  of  tobacco  lingered  about  a 
young  gentleman's  room,  though  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  we 
should  say  that  even  in  that  early  reprobate  there  lay  less 
dangerous  elements.  Shall  we  suppose  the  case  of  a  "  few 
well-chosen  water-color  drawings  depending  from  the 
wall,''  and  a  "simple  vase  full  of  fresh-culled  flowers 
upon  the  writing  table?"  No;  such  things  might  be 
about  a  boy  in  a  book,  or  a  boy  whose  mother  kept  his 


L>  U  M  B     M  O  U  T  H  S  .  41 

room  in  order  for  him ;  bat  a  real  boy,  left  to  his  o^vll 
desires,  be  assured,  fair  reader,  never  did  surround  him- 
self with  such  delicate  elegances,  notwithstanding  much 
beautifully  Avritten  evidence  to  the  contrary. 

There  were  two  pictures,  however,  in  young  Galton's 
room  :  the  one  an  engraving  of  the  greatest  living  poet 
of  the  time,  for  poets  do  yet  obtain  honor  even  in  these 
days,  from  the  generation  which  is  rising  while  they 
flourish  ;  the  other,  too,  a  portrait,  and,  like  the  first,  of 
one  whose  living  features  Frederick  had  never  looked 
upon — that  of  a  beautiful  girl,  dark,  and  large-eyed  as 
himself,  and  about  two  years  older.  This  was  his  dead 
mother. 

His  collection  of  books  was  extensive  and  various. 
The  ancient  classics  were  as  well  thumbed  as  those  of  a 
"  sixth  form "  at  Eton  ;  partly  because  he  rather  liked 
them,  and  because  he  had  been  told  (falsely)  that  through 
them  lay  the  readiest  path  to  the  end  he  had  in  view ; 
but  principally  because  his  uncle  loved  them,  and  made 
them  the  objects  of  Fred's  study.  Xevertheless,  he  took 
that  '^ Seven  against  Thebes''  down  Avith  an  unmis- 
takable sigh.  He  hated  what  are  called  "Books  for 
Boys"  of  all  sorts;  but  he  would  rather  by  half  have 
borrowed  Jack  Meyrick's  "  Seven  Champions  of  Chris- 
tendom," than  studied  that  verbose  uninteresting  tragedy; 
and  he  cast  a  regretful  glance  at  the  long  line  of  English 
classics  that  stood  invitingly  above  it,  any  one  of  which 
he  would  have  greatly  preferred.  Shakspeare  stood  there, 
by  no  means  as  yet  his  favorite  author,  although  he  had 
begun  to  have  a  dim  consciousness  that  in  his  plays  were 
to  be  read  the  wisest  and  most  wondrous  things  ever 
written  by  uninspired  man.  Not  one  in  a  thousand  boys 
have  the  least  love  for  Shakspeare ;  the  most  they  can 
in  reality  lay  claim  to  is  a  blind  traditional  admiration 
for  him — 

The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star,  of  the  night  for  the  morrow  ; 
The  devotion  to  something  afar — 


42  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

and  so  far  that  they  cannot  get  near  enough,  for  the  present, 
to  recognize  him  at  all.  Very  few  grown  men  ever  pore 
willingly  over  him,  or  read  him  privately  for  their  own 
pleasure  and  profit.  What  they  know  of  him,  in  spite 
of  that  voluminous  edition,  standing  inviolate  in  their 
libraries,  is  from  oral  sources,  and  nearly  all  their  quota- 
tions from  him  ai'e  at  second-hand.  They  say  that  the 
great  beauty  of  Shakspeare  is  that  he  is  so  easily  under- 
stood, and  in  that  respect  has  so  great  an  advantage  over 
modern  bards ;  and  as  they  do  not  blush  during  the  de- 
livery of  this  statement,  we  may  charitably  conclude  that 
they  believe  it.  If  men  therefore  so  rarely  attain  to  the 
knowledge  of  Shakspeare,  lads  of  sixteen — even  of  what  is 
termed  ''genius" — are  not  likely  to  appreciate  him  very 
thoroughly.  The  boy  in  one  of  poor  Mr.  Leech's  pictures 
who  remarks:  ''Aw!  Shakspeare;  I  consider  him  a 
veway  overwated  individual,"  uttered  a  sentiment  in 
truthful  accordance  with  the  feelings  of  his  contempo- 
raries. 

Master  Frederick  Galton  was  not  indeed  inclined  auda- 
ciously to  reverse  the  verdict  of  centuries,  but  for  the 
])resent  his  Shakspeare  was  not  dog-eared ;  neither  was 
his  Milton,  though  he  was  very  fond  of  poetry,  and  his 
knovvdedge  of  classics  rendered  that  great  bard  more  in- 
telligible to  him  than  to  most  boys.  It  astounds  me 
to  hear  Macaulay  telling  us  that  "Paradise  Lost ^' and 
"Lycidas"  obtain  a  universal  admiration.  But  Macau- 
lay  was  a  ripe  scholar,  when — at  nineteen — he  tells  us  so, 
and  he  looked  upon  all  things  with  a  scholar's  eyes. 
Fred's  Byron  was  thumbed  enough,  and  presented  by  no 
means  a  creditable  appearance  to  his  library.  Shelley 
was  dropping  to  pieces,  from  being  carried  out  of  doors, 
and  blown  about  by  the  Downs'  winds,  while  the  Song 
of  the  Skylark  in  the  summer  air  was  the  music  to  the 
words  of  the  book,  and  fed  the  young  reader's  soul  with 
a  double  joy.  Keates,  with  his  paper  binding  fairly 
fingered  away,  stood  naked  and  not  ashamed  by  the  side 
of  Wordsworth,  for  that  philosophic  l>ard  and  great  inter- 


D  U  M  B     M  O  U  T  H  S .  43 

preter  of  nature  to  the  heart  of  youth  was  in  little  better 
condition. 

As  for  the  prose — which  is  by  no  means  so  instructive 
a  feature  in  the  mental  diagnosis — there  were  histories 
old  and  new,  but  no  travels  save  Gulliver's ;  there  was 
fiction  in  plenty,  which  was  certainly  not  placed.there  i'ov 
show.  Smollett  and  Fielding  (not  perused,  we  fear,  by 
boys  for  their  Shakspearian  equalities),  Charles  Lamb, 
Scott,  Dickens,  Thackeray,  all  the  humorists  of  modern 
time,  in  short,  were  there — that  is,  all  that  are  within  the 
mental  grasp  of  a  clever  boy ;  for  there  is  a  stilted  and 
unfamiliar  style  about  those  whom  the  author  of  '^  A^anity 
Fair^'  has  so  ple^isantly  treated  of,  which  makes  them 
caviare  to  the  young. 

There  was  another  book,  neither  courting  nor  shunning 
notice  by  its  position  in  Fred's  library,  which  it  seems  to 
me  (however  contrary  it  may  be  to  the  practice  of  the  most 
elegant  story-tellers)  should  not  escape  notice — namely, 
the  Holy  Bible.  On  that,  as  on  others  we  have  spoken 
of,  the  dust  but  too  often  accumulates  as  it  lies  on  the 
shelf  in  our  palmy  days  of  youth  and  vigor.  "We  hope, 
as  Dame  Quickly  says,  that  there  is  no  need  to  trouble 
ourselves  with  any  such  things  yet,  and  are  mostly  con- 
tent to  hear  it  read  at  church  or  in  the  household,  as 
though  it  had  no  particular  message  for  our  private  ear. 
Frederick  Galton  was  in  this  respect  little  better  than  the 
rest  of  boys.  His  Bible,  ho"svGver,  did  not  stand  with 
the  other  books,  but  on  the  mantlepiece,  beside  the  pic- 
ture of  his  mother ;  perhaps  undesignedly,  or  perhaps 
because  to  the  boy's  mind — which  was  far  from  irreverent 
— it  seemed  to  be  the  most  fitting  place  for  it.  The  top 
of  the  drawers  w^as  littered  with  manuscripts  in  Greek 
and  Latin ;  but  the  table  standing  by  the  window — from 
which  a  great  part  of  the  straggling  village  could  be  seen, 
as  well  as  the  top  of  the  Round  we  have  so  .lately  visited 
— had  usually  papers  on  it  of  another  sort;  writings  that 
were  carefully  put  aside  and  packed  in  a  drawer,  when 
the  occupant  of  the  room  was  away,  or  popped  into  the 


44  MAREIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

big  desk  before  \vhicli  he  sat,  did  any  one  enter  while  he 
was  there.  Although  Fred  was  by  no  means  neat  in  his 
ordinary  arrangements,  these  sacred  papers  were  folded 
and  set  in  order  with  all  care.  Actuated  by  the  sacred 
passion  of  paternal  love,  he  w^atched  over  them  jealously, 
for  they  were  the  first-fruits  of  his  teeming  brain.  It  is 
more  than  possible  that  the  best  thoughts  in  prose  or 
verse  there  written  might  owe  their  origin  to  other  liter- 
ary parents ;  but  if  so,  he  was  happily  ignorant  of  it. 
Perish  the  wretch  who,  with  sacrilegious  finger,  would 
point  out  his  error ! 

For  consider,  thou  respectable  Paterfamilias,  vvho  hast 
never  beat  about  thy  brain  for  the  plot  of  a  story,  or 
wearied  thyself  in  vain  over  tlie  Rhyming  Dictionary  for 
a  tag  to  a  couplet,  how  it  would  be  with  thee  in  such  a 
case.  Suppose  at  a  time  when  thy  half-dozen  olive 
branches  are  ''  down  at  dessert  ^'  as  usual,  and  thou  hast  a 
few  friends  to  dine  with  thee,  that  one  of  those  guests 
should  begin  to  find  likenesses  out  of  the  family  for  each 
of  thine  unconscious  little  ones  :  a  nose  here,  and  a  mouth 
there,  a  turn  of  the  eye,  or  a  hole  in  the  chin,  common  to 
others  of  their  acquaintance,  v/ho  are  neither  relatives, 
nor  indeed  especial  favorites  of  thine  ov/n.  Would  not 
such  conversation  i)e  unpalatable  to  thee,  and  such  innuen- 
does against  thy  lady's  honor  insufferable  ?  With  indig- 
nation similar  to  thine  own,  then,  would  our  young  friend 
have  met  the  calumnies  which  should  question  the  origi- 
nality of  his  ^'  Hengist  and  Plorsa,"  a  tragedy  in  five  acts ; 
of  his  '^Amabel/'  a  melody;  of  his  ^^  Loves  of  the  Vil- 
lage,'' a  satirical,  and,  indeed,  a  slightly-libellous  prose 
essay ;  or  of  any  other  offspring  of  his  brain,  so  many  of 
which  reposed  in  that  great  desk  of  his. 

How  lovingly  he  now  lingers  there,  while  selecting 
one  or  two  to  ])iace  in  his  pockets,  embarrassed  by  the 
number  of  the  objects  of  his  affection,  like  some  amorous 
traveller  who  has  been  bidden  by  an  eastern  potentate, 
in  gratitude  for  some  great  service  done,  to  choose  a  wife 
from  among  the  varied  beauties  of  his  harem.     As  one 


DUMB     MOUTHS.  45 

SO  tempted,  if  already  married,  might  hastily  divorce 
from  his  mind  his  European  consort  (residing  at  tap- 
ping or  other  spot,  whither  the  news  of  his  infidelity 
need  never  travel),  so  Mr.  Frederick  Galton  precipitately 
crammed  the '^  Seven  against  Thebes''  into  his  pocket, 
not  without  perhaps  a  fleeting  mental  comparison  of  the 
merits  of  certain  ancient  and  modern  authors,  to  the  dis- 
advantage of  the  former.  His  choice  finally  fell  upon  a 
translation  from  Horace,  a  few  specimen  chapters  of  a 
novel,  the  scene  of  which  was  laid  in  Punic  Carthage, 
and  a  morbid  and  amorphous  poem,  called  "A  Frequent 
Thought;"  and  having  carefully  distributed  these  manu- 
scripts about  his  shooting-jacket,  he  locked  his  desk,  and 
ran,  or  rather  leaped  down-stairs. 

Mrs.  Hartopp,  the  housekeeper,  with  a  letter  in  her 
hand,  met  her  young  favorite  as  he  rushed  out  of  the  hall 
into  the  passage  at  his  usual  rate  of  indoor  travelling 
when  in  good  spirits,  which  was  something  over  seven- 
teen miles  an  hour.  She  W'as  very  stout,  and  the  passage 
narrow,  so  that  had  not  the  young  gentleman  stopped 
himself  upon  the  instant,  a  collision  would  have  been 
inevitable. 

'^  Mercy  me.  Master  Frederick,  vrhat  a  pace  you  do  go 
about  a  house,  to  be  sure !     Cats  is  nothing  to  you." 

'^  Don't  you  know  I'm  a  locomotive,  and  that  you 
should  always  shunt  yourself  on  to  a  siding  when  you 
hear  7/ie  coming,  Xanny?"  replied  Frederick,  laughing, 
"The  law  ought  to  be  put  in  force  which  forbicls  any 
obstruction  of  the  line." 

"  Line  indeed !  See,  there's  your  father  gone,  and  I 
don't  know  what  to  do  about  sending  to  the  railway 
station.  There's  my  niece  Mary,  she  writes,  coming  by 
the  mid-day  train — she  as  is  going  to  help  me,  you  know, 
a  bit,  and  learn  about  niince-meat  and  such-like  before 
she  goes  to  live  in  Loudon — and  there  is  nobody  to  meet 
her,  poor  young  thing.  James  has  gone  with  the  gig, 
you  see,  and  she  has  never  travelled  from  home  before  in 
all  her  life," 


46  M  A  R  R  I  E  D      B  E  N  E  A  T  rl 

^'Fll  meet  her,  Nanny,"  cried  the  boy,  good-naturedly. 
'^  I'll  bring  her  back  in  the  sociable,  as  carefully  as  if  she 
was  eggs." 

^^You,  Master  Frederick?  Certainly  not.  A  pretty 
thing,  indeed,  for  a  young  gentleman  like  you  to  be  fetch- 
ing the  likes  of  our  Polly.  Although  they  do  say  (for  I 
have  not  seen  her  myself  since  she  was  so  high)  that  she 
is  uncommon  well-looking  for  her  station,  and,  indeed, 

she  comes  of  as  good  a ^^hy,  bless  my  life !  "  cried 

the  old  lady  suddenly,  and  turning  of  a  lively  purple — 
for  a  great  thought  had  struck  along  her  brain,  and 
flushed  her  cheek — "  if  it  ain't  carrier's  day !  Jacob 
Luues  v/ill  bring  her,  of  course.  I'll  just  run  round  at 
once,  and  catch  him  before  he  starts."  And  Mrs.  Hartopp 
tied  her  cap-strings  under  her  cliin  in  a  huge  bow,  which 
w^as  all  the  additional  clothing  she  considered  necessary 
for  an  expedition  into  the  village  at  that  season. 

Nature,  indeed,  had  taken  the  housekeeper  under  her 
care  in  respect  of  temperature,  having  covered  her  Avith 
something  more  than  plumpness;  while  art  had  seconded 
her  efforts  by  bestowing  garments  of  the  warmest  com- 
plexion as  well  as  texture;  so  that  latest  summer,  even 
in  breezy  Casterton,  had  scarcely  a  wind  to  cool  the  good 
lady,  and  far  less  to  give  her  a  chill.  Nevertheless, 
^^  Let  mcYUWj  Nanny,  to  the  carrier's,"  exclaimed  the  young 
gentleman,  gallantly ;  ^'  I  think  I  can  run  faster  than  you." 

'^  'Deed,  and  you  can  do  that.  Master  Fred,"  cried  the 
housekeeper,  laughing;  ^' but,  thanking  you  kindly  all 
the  same,  I'd  rather  go  myself  You're  late  with  your 
iarning,  besides,  tliis  morning;  and  your  uncle  Morrit  is 
as  punctual  with  his  v»-ork  as  is  our  gray  hen  Avith  her 
laying,  and  makes  almost  as  great  a  clacking  about  it. 
So  go  along  with  you,  like  a  good  boy."  And  Mrs. 
Hartopp,  gathering  the  folds  of  her  dress  together  in 
front,  after  the  female  fashion,  and  knitting  her  forehead 
at  the  boisterous  weather — which  was  her  usual  substi- 
tute for  a  bonnet  on  such  excursions — stepped  out  upon 
her  errand. 


i  H  E      R  E  \  .     R  O  B  E  R  1      :>i  O  R  R  11  .  4  • 

CHAPTER    lY. 

THE   REV.    ROBERT   MORRIT. 

1  "THOUGH  the  Rev.  Robert  Morrit  was  ecclesiastically 
but  the  curate  of  a  poor  parish,  his  social  position 
was  good.  He  held  a  fellowship  at  Camford,  where  he 
had  taken  an  excellent  degree — which  set  him  in  easy 
circumstances  (provided  he  remained  a  bachelor)  for  life. 

The  living  itself,  which  was  in  the  gift  of  his  college, 
would  fall  to  him  upon  the  demise  of  the  present  vicar, 
who  was  an  involuntary  absentee,  and  kept  in  a  state  of 
suspension  by  his  bishop— the  living  and  the  village,  as 
Mr.  Morrit  himself  used  pleasantly  to  observe,  being 
both  sequestered.  The  curate,  as  we  have  hinted,  was 
an  archaeologist  of  some  reputation,  and  his  love  of  anti- 
quity extended  to  his  cellar,  where  there  was  as  good  old 
port  to  be  found  as  in  any  house  in  the  county.  His 
enemies — for  the  good  man  was  not  without  tljem — as- 
serted that  he  had  obtained  that  wine  by  dishonest  means. 
He  had,  they  said,  taken  an  opportunity  of  revisiting 
Minim  Hall  V' a  poor  college,  but  mine  own/^  as  he  was 
wont  to  term  it)  at  a  time  when  its  very  limited  number 
of  voung  gentlemen  were  ''  down,"  as  well  as  their  pas- 
tors and  masters,  and  only  a  few  weak-minded  old  Dons 
in  residence,  such  as  neither  foreign  nor  home  landscapes 
could  entice  from  their  combination-room  during  the 
long  vacation.  By  these  lonely  old  gentlemen,  Mr. 
Morrit  was  welcomed  with  such  enthusiasm  that  they 
produced  some  of  that  '^ twenty  port"  for  which  the  Hall 
had  long  been  famous — although  that  priceless  bin  was 
fast  diminishing — and  he  was  rumored  to  have  repaid 
their  hospitalitv  thiis. 

'•  Why,  bless  my  soul,  this  port  is  going !  "  observed 
he,  as  soon  as  he  set  lips  to  it. 

"  Going  ! "  echoed  the  Principal— all  the  ruby  liquid 


48  M  A 11  r:  I  E  I>     B  E  y  _ 

(not  unlike  the  precious  wine  of  vrliicli  lie  was  partaking) 
ebbinor  swiftly  from  his  cheeks — '*  o-oiu^  where "?  " 

''  It's  getting  sick,"  quoth  Mr.  Morrit,  firmly  :  "  the 
aroma  is  gone,  the  body  is  vanishing,  and  six  weeks 
hence  it  won't  be  drinkable." 

If  the  University  Commission  (an  unhatched  serpent's 
^^^  at  that  period)  had  then  been  sitting,  and  had  just 
decreed  that  half  a  year  should  see  the  end  of  Camford  as 
an  English  university,  the  Principal,  the  Bursar,  and  the 
third  Fellow  of  Minim  Hall,  then  present,  could  not 
have  been  possibly  placed  in  a  lower  stratum  of  spirits. 

One  sipped  his  wine  like  a  sparrow;  the  tongue  of  an- 
other flickered  like  that  of  an  ant-eater  about  the  brim 
of  his  wine-glass ;  the  eyes  of  the  third  grew  dazed  with 
staring  at  the  shining  liquid  as  he  held  it  up  between 
him  and  the  sun.  Thev  begran  to  imao-ine  that  there 
really  was  something  excessively  wrong  about  that  port. 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  Hickup  was  here ;  but  he's  in 
Petersburg,"  observed  the  Bursar,  sighing.  "  I  am  sure 
/  don't  know:  it  certainly  does  taste  queerly,  Morrit, 
now  you  mention  it." 

"  Deuced  queerly,"  assented  the  third  Fellow,  who, 
nevertheless,  had  had  several  glasses. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?  "  inquired  the  Principal.  ^^  It 
will  be  ten  thousand  pities  to  let  it  spoil  in  the  cellar." 

^'  Drink  it,"  said  the  third  Fellow,  decisively. 

''  Then  we  must  telegraph  to  Hickup,  or  he  will  have 
a  fit  when  he  comes  back  and  finds  it  gone.  Xow  what 
do  you  advise,  Morrit?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  it's  no  affair  of  mine;  I'm  so  seldom 
up:  but  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  should  say,  ^Sell  it,' 
sell  it  to  somebody  who  can  give  a  long  figure  for  it,  and 
afford  to  drink  it  quickly." 

'*  We  have  been  offered  eight  guineas  a  dozen  for  it," 
observed  the  Bursar ;  ^- and  we  have  got  more  than  twelve 
dozen  left.  I  suppose  a  dealer  would  not  look  at  it, 
however,  if  it  is  really  going." 

"If  a  wine  raerchaiu  ^■^■^/■^  that  wine,  you  are  done/' 


THE     REV.     ROBERT     M  O  R  R  I  T .  49 

observed  Mr.  Morrit,  gravel}'.  "  These  things  get  about 
like  wild-fire.  The  best  way  will  be  for  one  of  von  to 
buy  it  for  your  private  cellar.^' 

The  three  Dons  looked  at  each  other  inquiringlv.  The 
Principal  was  a  married  man,  and  dared  not  do  such  a 
thing.  The  Bursar  was  not  so  particular  about  his  drink 
as  to  feel  inclined  to  pay  any  great  sum  for  it.  The  third 
Fellow  pertinaciously  adhered  to  his  original  idea  that 
they  should  drink  nothing  else  until  the  ^4wenty  port^^ 
was  gone. 

'^I  tell  you  what,"  observed  Mr.  Morrit,  good- 
naturedly,  ''  I'm  only  a  curate,  and  not  a  rich  man ;  but 
sooner  than  see  my  old  college  suffer  such  a  loss  as  this, 
I'll  take  the  wine  ofp  your  hands  myself,  at  five  pounds 
the  dozen.  My  Downs'  friends  are  all  port  drinkers,  and 
we  shall  manage  to  get  through  most  of  it.  I  dare  say, 
while  it's  pretty  good." 

The  Principal  and  Bursar  were  for  embracing  this 
proposition,  as  well  as  the  generous  being  who  had  so 
sacrificed  himself,  and  tlie  Rev.  Robert  Morrit  would 
have  got  clear  away  with  the  whole  bin,  but  for  the  dog- 
ged pertinacity  of  the  third  Fellow,  who  insisted  that 
there  should  be  left  enough  to  last  them  at  the  rate  of  a 
bottle  a  day  until  the  other  men  came  back.  The  curate, 
however,  secured  eight  dozen  ;  and  there  was  a  goodly 
portion  still  remaining  in  liis  Casterton  cellar  at  the  date 
of  our  introduction  to  him.  Perhaps  the  change  gave  it 
body  and  improved  it.  But  Professor  Hickup,  who  only 
returned  to  Minim  Hall  in  time  to  taste  the  very  last 
bottle,  protested,  with  many  strong  expressions  unfavor- 
able to  the  late  purchaser,  that  the  port  was  as  good  port 
as  it  had  ever  been ;  and  upon  the  truth  or  falsehood  of 
that  verdict  rested  the  charge  made  against  the  curate  of 
Casterton. 

Far  be  it  from  us  to  rank  ourselves  with  the  reverend 
gentleman's  accusers;  but  there  certainly  was  a  humorous 
twinkle  about  his  eye,  and  a  dry  wise  smile  about  liis 
mouth  at  times,  which  would  almost  befit  the  hero  of 

3 


50  MA  ERIE!)     BENEATH     HIM. 

such  a  story.  He  was  not  nearly  so  great  a  favorite  with 
the  gentry  in  his  neighborhood  as  was  his  brother-in-law, 
and  indeed  they  Vv'ere  a  little  afraid  of  him  ;  but  the  poor, 
for  the  most  part,  although  not  without  exceptions,  loved 
him.  He  was  more  kind  and  gentle  in  his  manner  to 
their  women  than  the  patronizing  and  would-be  charita- 
ble ladies,  who  gave  themselves  airs,  and  could  not  stand 
the  closeness  of  a  laborer's  cottage.  But  he  hated 
poachers  and  dissenters  mortally — the  latter  of  which 
wicked  class  w^ere  numerous  in  Casterton — and  enter- 
tained a  somewhat  foolish  and  unreasonable  family  pride. 
An  unhappy  cousin  of  his,  ^^  removed*'  by  ever  so  many 
genealogical  branches,  but  who  happened  to  bear  his  name 
and  live  in  his  neighborhood,  was  the  bane  of  the  curate's 
existence,  because  he  chose  to  consort  with  indifferent 
characters,  and  to  1)6  drinking  himself  to  death  with 
ungentleman-like  rapidity. 

Mr.  Morrit's  mind  was  originally  of  an  antique  cast, 
and  had  been  so  warped  in  a  backward  direction  by  a  long 
collegiate  course  of  training,  that  he  was  really  incapable 
of  appreciating  modern  things.  Xew  potatoes  and  new 
milk,  he  v/as  wont  to  aver,  were  all  the  novelties  he  ever 
wished  to  have  about  hiui ;  although  it  is  doubtful 
whether  his  favorite  study-chair,  spring-hung,  and  move- 
able from  within,  or  the  patent  reading-lamp  that  fitted 
into  the  arm  thereof,  were  of  that  indistinct  and  far-back 
period  from  which  alone,  as  he  would  have  it,  all  excellent 
things  originated. 

A  man  of  modern  letters,  who  met  Mr.  IMorrit  at 
dinner  for  the  first  time,  might  have  come  away  with 
the  idea  that  that  gentleman  was  semi-idiotic,  as  well  as 
dowered  with  those  malicious  and  snarling  qualities  so 
often  inherent  in  persons  of  inferior  mental  capacity. 

]\iaster  Frederick  Galton,  however — who,  as  we  have 
said,  was  a  pretty  good  judge  of  mankind  for  his  years — 
was  by  no  means  of  that  opinion,  and  a  very  honest 
friendship  existed  between  these  tvv'o  relatives.  Mr. 
Morrit,  who  hated  subservience  so  far  as  himself  and  his 


THE     E  E  Y.      ROBERT     M  O  R  R  I  T  .  51 

own  belongings  were  concerned,  and  who  perhaps  did 
but  profess  Toryism  as  some  men  do  Radicalism,  only 
that  they  may  the  better  exercise  their  personal  inde- 
pendence, perceived  in  his  nephew  none  of  that  tendency 
to  lip-service  which  his  fastidious  eye  detected  in  his 
brother-in-law,  though  it  was,  after  all,  maybe,  nothing 
but  that  professional  suavity  with  whicli  no  doctor,  unless 
lie  be  a  man  of  acknowledged  genius,  can  afford  to  dis- 
pense; while  lie  gradually  beheld  his  beloved  sister 
renewed  in  the  delicate  features  and  gentle  disposition  of 
lier  son.  The  boy,  on  his  part,  reverenced  the  old-world 
knowledge  that  his  uncle  possessed,  and  appreciated  his 
sarcastic  humor,  even  when  he  himself  was  the  object  of 
his  sting.  Xevertheless,  he  entered  the  curate's  study 
that  morning  with  the  '^ Seven  against  Thebes''  in  his 
hand,  and  the  other  three  efforts  of  genius  in  his  pocket, 
not  without  misgiving. 

'^  AVhat !  "  cried  his  uncle,  perceiving  unwonted  dejec- 
tion in  his  looks — for  the  boy  was  accustomed  to  climb 
Parnassus  vrith  his  tutor  with  exceeding  cheerfulness — 
''is  it  possible  you  don't  take  to  the  *  Seven,' Fred ? 
Has  that  modern  trash,  which  your  father  suffers  you  to 
read,  corrupted  your  taste  ?  " 

"Xo,  sir,"  answered  Frederick  (the  "sir"  being  that 
sort  of  Addisou-patriarchal  style  which  especially  pleased 
^his  uncle);  "the  'Seven'  is  very  well,  but — " 

'^Very  tcell!"  exclaimed  the  idolator  of  the  classics. 
"  AYhat  the  dickens  do  you  mean  by  such  an  impertinence 
as  that?  Is  there  anything  in  your  Byrons  and  the  rest 
of  them  to  compare  with  it?  Is  there  anything  like  it, 
sir,  to  be  found  among  the  whole  lot  of  your  now-a-day 
poet-tasters  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  sir ;  nothing  in  the  least  like  it,  I  do  assure 
you,"  returned  the  lad  with  intense  gravity. 

Mr.  Morrit  carried  his  double-barrelled  gold  eye- 
glasses slowly  to  his  eyes,  and  purveyed  the  youth  for  a 
iull  minute  without  speaking.  "You  know,  my  boy," 
said   he  at  length  in   a  gentle  tone,   "there  is  always 


52  M  A  R  Pw  I  E  D      BENE  A  T  H     HI  M  . 

a   certain    tedium    for   all    parties    concerned    about   a 
siege/'  ^      , 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  there  is  a  Te  TJeum  for  one  of  them, 
at  least,  when  it  is  finished." 

"  Veiy  good,  Fred.  That  is  a  veiy  pleasant  epigram7 
matic  method  of  intimating  that  you  are  tired  of  the 
^  Seven.'  Now,  can  you  tell  me  after  what  protracted 
siege  it  is  probaHle  that  a  Te  Deum  was  first  per- 
formed?" 

The  young  man  stood  thoughtful  and  serious  as 
became  one  who  was  employed  about,  a  great  historical 
problem,  although  he  was  aware,  by  the  twinkle  in  his 
uncle's  eyes,  that  a  joke  was  pending.  '^  I  have  got  it, 
sir!"  exclaimed  he  at  last,  with  his  face  like  the  sun 
bursting  through  a  cloud.  "  It  must  have  been  the 
siege  of  Tyre  that  produced  it."  And  the  curate  and 
nephew  laughed  together  in  a  manner  pleasant  to 
behold. 

This  almost  mechanical  quick-sightednessfor  humorous 
allusion  was  one  of  the  strongest  bonds,  perhaps,  that 
united  Mr.  Morrit  and  his  nephew ;  for  out  of  such  sort 
of  sympathetic  material,  alas ! — and  still  lower  sorts, 
descending  in  some  cases,  even  to  a  common  liking  for 
strong  drinks,  rather  than  of  the  strands  of  a  common 
faith,  morality,  or  what  great  principles  you  will — arc 
the  bonds  of  human  friendships  formed.  There  was^ 
nobody  in  all  Casterton,  nor  in  many  a  square  mile 
around  it,  who  was  eligible  to  join  that  Mutual  Admi- 
ration Society  of  which  the  Eev.  Robert  Morrit  and 
Master  Frederick  Galton  were  the  sole  members.  On 
this  account,  the  good  priest  was  blinded  to  a  greatei- 
extent  than  he  was  aware  of,  to  the  faults  of  his  young- 
parishioner  and  relative,  and  disposed  to  favor  his  incli- 
nations ;  of  which  circumstances  the  youth,  on  his  side, 
was  by  no  means  slow  to  take  advantage. 

It  was  through  uncle  Robert's  solicitation  that  a  horse 
in  the  doctor's  stable  had  been  set  apart  for  the  lad's 
particular  use;  that  he  had  been  permitted  to  take  to 


THE     REV.      ROBERT      M  O  R  R  I  T .  o3 

"stick-ups/'  and  had  discarded  jackets  at  least  a  year 
before  those  superticial  changes  had  seemed  necessaiy  to 
his  father  and  Mi^.  Hartopp ;  and  tliat  he  had  discon- 
tinued the  study  of  the  low  mathematics  formerly 
imparted  to  him  in  private  by  the  village  school-master 
between  the  hours  of  seven  and  eight  P.  M.  ^'ay,  a  stray 
expression  now  and  then  from  the  curate  had  doubtless 
helped  to  dissuade  the  doctor  from  pressing  upon  his  son 
more  strongly  than  he  did  the  adoption  of  his  own  ])ro- 
fession ;  and  it  was  to  the  uncle  rather  than  to  the  nearer 
relative  that  the  young  man  was  now  about  to  unbosom 
himself  fully  upon  that  very  subject. 

Frederick  had  been  watching  for  his  opportunity  since 
he  had  entered  the  curate's  study  that  morning,  and  the 
siege  of  Tyre  seemed  to  have  afforded  it,  by  putting  his 
uncle  in  the  best  of  humors. 

"  My  father  and  I  have  been  having  a  little  serious 
talk  this  morning,  sir." 

'Mh,  choice  of  a  profession,  I  suppose,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  You  have  come  to  the  epoch  when  that 
unpleasant  matter  can  be  no  longer  shirked.  AVell,  and 
how  do  you  like  the  idea  of  being  a  saw-bones  ?  Splendid 
prospect  that  calling  affords  you,  does  it  not  ?  Look  at 
Galen,  Dr.  Sangrado,  Dr.  Faustus,  Dr.  Fell,  and  Sir 
Astley  Cooper — names  that  are  familiar  to  us  all  as 
household  words.  The  lancet  of  the  surgeon,  lad,  is  as 
honorable,  at  least,  as  the  weapon  of  the  cavalry  officer, 
while  it  is  never  used  to  destroy  the  lives  of  our  fellow- 
creatures,  but  to  save  them.  What  other  things  were 
said,  Fred,  in  favor  of  saw-bonisra  besides  these?" 

"Xothing;  not  even  those,  sir;  although,  if  they  had 
been  dwelt  upon,  there  is  no  knowing  but  that  I  should 
have  been  persuaded.  As  it  was,  my  father  said  that 
*  he  was  sorry,  but  that  he  would  never  force  niy  incli- 
nations.' " 

"Very  good,  very  kind,  and  very  right,  Fred.  And 
to  what  did  you  say  that  your  inclinations  pointed?" 

"Well,  sir,  I — 1 — "  and  the  usually  voluble  youth 


54  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

blushed  and  stammered,  and  was  actually  at  a  loss  for  a 
word. 

^^  What  remunerative  calling  did  you  hit  upon?  Come, 
out  with  it,  lad,  and  don't  be  ashamed.  Did  you  say 
you  would  be  a  poet?"  and  the  middle-aged  gentleman 
chuckled  and  rubbed  his  hands  at  the  absurdity  of  the 
idea,  wdiile  his  nephew  stood  secretly  fingering  the  trans- 
lation from  Horace,  and  the  original  verses  of  a  morbid 
character,  as  they  reposed  in  his  coat  pocket. 

"  I  said  I  would  go  to  college,  and  perhaps  into  the 
Church— 

''It  is  usually  termed  taking  holy  orders,"  interrupted 
Mr.  ]\Iorrit,  drily. 
,  "  Well,  sir,  I  said  that  I  w  ould  do  that,  if— if— " 

''If  you  were  driven  to  it,  and  could  not  help  your- 
self;  quite  so.  Allow  me  to  thank  you,  in  the  name  of 
the  cloth,"  said  the  cnrate,  taking  off  the  velvet  head- 
covering  which  he  wore  in  his  study  and  while  solem- 
nizing funerals  in  windy  weatiier,  and  which  his  enemies 
did  not  hesitate  to  call  his  smoking-cap.  "This  patron- 
age of  my  humble  profession  is  as  unexpected  as  it  is 
flattering.*" 

"  My  father  wishes  it,  sir,"  returned  the  lad,  no  longer 
hesitating,  but  in  a  tone  of  great  annoyance;  "and  I 
shall  do  my  best  to  gratify  him  ;  but  my  inclinations,  I 
own,  point  very  strongly  to  literature." 

"Ah,"  replied  Mr.  Morrit,  rubbing  his  chin,  which 
was  always  a  sign  with  him  of  intense  dissatisfaction,  "  I 
see ;  they  point  not  to  holy  orders,  but  to  literature.  The 
two  things  being  quite  incompatible,  and  wholly  differ- 
ent, it  w^ould  be  a  sad  thing  if  a  young  man  of  your  bril- 
liant parts  were  lost  in  the  ranks  of  an  ignorant  and 
boorish  clergy.  You  entertain  no  apprehension  of  that 
kind — good  ;  although,  perhaps,  you  only  say  so,  to  spare 
my  personal  feelings.  Then,  what  is  the  literature  vrhich 
you  have  in  your  eye,  my  young  friend?  The  art 
of  writing  libels  which  are  not  actionable,  under  the 
name  of  'leading  articles' — leading,  forsooth,  a  pack  of 


THE     E  E  V.     ROBERT     M  O  R  R  I  T .  00 

blind  fools  into  a  ditch  ?  Or  are  you  for  the  serial  busi- 
ness of  the  halfpenny  journals?  It  was  only  yesterday 
that  I  saw  the  '  Mysterious  Murder  of  Middlehampton, 
or  the  Midnight  Yell/  advertised  in  letters  of  appro- 
priate crimson  upon  the  village  stocks.  You  speak  as 
though  you  were  yourself  the  talented  author  of  that 
work ;  if  you  are  I  congratulate  you,  and  will  take  in 
the  Family  Xulsance,  or  whatever  the  name  of  the  peri- 
odical is,  until  the  thrilling  narrative  is  concluded;  that 
is  to  say,  if  you  confine  it  within  reasonable  limits,  for  I 
have  heard  that  it  is  considered  injudicious  to  let  these 
serial  romances  come  to  an  end  at  all.  You  are  an 
honor  to  our  family,"  added  the  curate,  fairly  exploding 
with  indignation,  and  as  though  all  that  he  had  said 
before  was  but  as  the  powder-train  that  led  to  the  mine — 
"  you  are  an  honor  to  our  family,  Master  Frederick  Gal- 
ton,  upon  my  soul  you  are  I  " 

^'  I  came  here,  sir,  this  morning,"  replied  the  young 
man,  with  forced  calmness  and  vermilion  cheeks,  "  under 
the  mistaken  impression  that  I  should  obtain  from  you, 
if  not  some  sympathy,  at  least  some  good  advice.  I 
wish,  now,  that  I  had  stopped  at  home,  or  held  my 
tongue,  and  so  at  least  have  avoided  insult." 

Mr.  Morrit's  little  splutter  of  family  pride,  compared 
with  the  indignation  that  glowed  in  the  young  man's 
features,  and  even  lit  up  his  very  form,  was  as  a  farthing 
candle  to  a  Budelight,  and  paled  at  once  its  ineffectual 
glimmer. 

"Pooh,  nonsense  I  Who  vrants  to  insult  you,  lad?  I 
am  an  old  fogy:  and  perhaps  some  of  ray  judgments 
upon  matters  may  be  a  little  harsh — there."  And  the 
curate  made  a  wry  face,  as  though  he  had  told  a  false- 
hood for  the  sake  of  peace  and  quietness.  "  Of  course  I 
was  angry  at  your  thinking  of  this  scribbling  being  your 
sole  profession.  You  may  be  a  lawyer,  soldier,  parson, 
and  still  keep  up  any  connection  you  may  have  formeil 
with  the  FamUy  Xu — ,  with  the  periodicals,  I  mean,  de- 
voted to  the  intellectual  elevation  of  vour  fellow-creatures." 


56  MAERIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

''  I  have  promised  my  father  to  be  a  parson,  if  any- 
thing, sir." 

^' Very  well,  then.  Go  to  the  University;  and  when 
you  liave  mixed  with  the  best  society  there,  and  have 
got  a  little  older,  you  will  be  better  able  to  judge  for 
yourself  as  to  what  is  likely  to  suit  you.  The  training 
cannot  hurt  you,  at  all  events,  but  vrill  eitlier  fit  you  for 
a  pulpit,  or  purify  and  classicise  your  style  for  " — Mr. 
Morrit  seized  his  chin  with  both  his  hajads,  but  took  them 
away  again — "  for  modern  literature." 

"I  am  quite  prepared  to  follow  your  directions  so  far, 
sir !  but  I  must  begin  with  literature  at  once." 

"By  all  means,"  returned  the  curate,  drily,  but  cheer- 
fully ;  "  here  is  half  a  quire  of  foolscap  and  a  bundle  of 
goose-quills,  and  you  may  take  both  home  with  you." 

'^I  have  begun  already,  sir,  as  far  as  manuscript  is 
concerned,"  replied  Frederick,  naively.  "I  want  to  see 
myself  in  print,  and,  particularly,  to  make  some  money." 

Mr.  Morrit  was  far  too  wise  a  man  to  ask  what  his 
nephew  could  possibly  want  money  for  in  a  place  like 
Casterton.  His  nature,  too,  though  sarcastic  and  rough, 
was  not  without  that  innate  delicacy  which  respects  even 
a  child's  feelings,  and  without  which  no  man  is  fit  to 
wear  the  name  of  gentleman. 

"  My  purse,  you  know,  Fred,  is  quite  at  your  disposal 
of  course,"  said  he,  turning  round  to  poke  the  fire,  in 
order  to  disembarrass  the  young  man  as  much  as  possi- 
ble. He  was  well  aware,  from  observations  made  at 
college,  that  your  borrowers  do  not  relish  being  stared  at. 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  uncle,"  returned  the  boy,  greatly 
mollified ;  "  but  I  do  not  wish  that." 

"  You  are  in  v>'ant,  then,  of  a  naedium  of  publication  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Will  you  let  me  look  at  these  buds  of  promise,  Fred?" 
said  his  uncle,  smiling — "at  those  papers,  I  mean,  with 
which  you  have  l)een  fumbling  in  your  pockets  all  this 
time;  or  perhaps  you  will  read  them  yourself?" 

"  No,  sir — not  now,"  answered  the  lad,  firmly.     After 


THE     REV.    ROBERT     MORRIT.  57 

the  indignities  he  had  suifered,  he  had  not  the  heart 
to  read  his  specimen  chapters  of  the  novel  concerning 
ancient  Carthage,  nor  his  translation  from  Horace,  and 
far  less  the  poetical  fragment,  which  he  knew  was  morbid; 
nor,  indeed,  did  he  consider  his  uncle  to  be  in  a  frame 
of  mind  adapted  for  their  appreciation.  ^ 

^^AVhat  are  the  names  of  them,  Fred?'^  inquired  Mr. 
Morrit,  again  bestowing  his  particular  attention  upon 
the  fire. 

Frederick  rehearsed  the  barren  titles  rather  sheepishly. 

"  Is  the  story  about  ancient  Carthage  a  tale  of  real 
life  ? "  inquired  the  curate,  innocently ;  but  his  nephew 
could  not  but  perceive  the  shoulders  of  his  venerable 
relative  shaking  with  inward  merriment. 

'^  I  suppose  so,  sir,^'  answered  the  young  author,  tartly. 

^'And  has  it  been  perused  by  any  one  save  yourself? 
Has  it  had  the  advantage  of  any  disinterested  person's 
critical  eye?'' 

Xow,  the  only  individual  who  had  really  been  in- 
dulged with  a  glance  of  the  Carthaginian  story  was  Mrs. 
Hartopp,  the  housekeeper  to  whom  Mr.  Frederick 
Gal  ton  was  accustomed  to  confide  his  literary  efforts, 
after  the  fashion  of  Moliere.  It  was  true,  she  admired 
them  all  to  enthusiasm,  but  Fred  was  more  than  doubt- 
ful whether  her  eye  could  strictly  be  termed  ^^ critical;" 
so  he  replied,  ^'  No,  uncle." 

"Yery  well,  my  boy;  it  so  happens  that  I  can  assist 
you  in  your  little  difficulty.  A  Fellow  of  our  college, 
who  was  never  good  for  much,  and  got  dissatisfied  with 
the  quiet  mode  of  life  pursued  at  Minim  Hal],  went  to 
London  to  '  read  for  the  bar,'  as  the  phrase  goes.  Either 
he  did  not  read  enough,  or  the  bar  didn't  care  for  his 
reading,  for  he  soon  turned  his  gigantic  intellect  into 
another  channel.  He  became  an  author  of  some  little 
celebrity,  and  eventually  the  conductor  of  a  magazine. 
The  name  of  the  thing  is,  I  believe,  the  Paternoster 
Arraadillo  " — 

'^Porcupine,  uncle — Porcupine,     I  know  it  quite  well. 


58  M  A  R  E  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

It  has  generally  one  or  two  good  stories,  and  now  and 
then  some  excessively  satirical  revievrs." 

"Ay ;  is  it  possible  that  those  can  be  the  thunder  of 
Gory  Gumps  ?  I  forget  why  we  called  him  by  that  name 
at  Camford,  his  real  name  being  Jonathan  Johnson ;  but 
WQ  always  did  so.  Xow,  I  daresay  he  will  know  what 
sort  of  articles  are  in  demand  as  vrell  as  anybody,  and  I 
will  ask  him  down  about  Cliristmas  to  have  a  talk  with 
you,  Fred.  We  shall  all  come  out  in  the  Porcupine 
afterwards,  I  do  not  doubt ;  but  we  cannot  expect  so 
eminent  a  person  to  visit  us  without  our  paying  for  it. 
Gory  Gumps  will  come,  I  am  certain,  because  he  knows 
about  my  port." 

Fred's  countenance  flushed  with  delightful  thankful- 
ness as  he  replied:  "Thank  you,  uncle;  I  am  sure  I 
shall  never  forget  your  very  great  kindness." 

"Ah,  but  you  will,  Fred,"  returned  the  curate,  grimly, 
"and  fifty  other  kindnesses  of  far  more  importance,  if 
you  have  the  luck  to  meet  with  that  number.  You  are 
sixteen  now,  which  is  the  epoch  of  gratitude ;  the  tiuie 
when  you  feel  inclined  to  make  over  your  Avhole  property 
to  anybody  who  happens  to  lend  you  an  umbrella  in  a 
hail-storm — but  that  only  lasts  a  little  while." 

Fred  remembered,  not  without  wincing,  that  he  had 
more  than  once  felt  inclined  to  sacrifice  his  life  in  return 
for  very  inconsiderable  benefits,  and  in  particular,  that 
he  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  cjuite  lately  a  scheme 
for  laying  some  of  his  worldly  goods,  when  he  should 
come  to  possess  any,  at  the  feet  of  a  great  social  reformer, 
whose  literary  worlcs  had  attracted  his  ardent  mind. 
How  many  an  impulsive  youth  has  experienced  the  like 
generous  yearnings,  and  yet,  alas !  how  few  the  social 
reformers  who  have  ever  got  the  money ! 

With  years  we  gain  worldly  wisdom;  but  for  that  we 
must  barter  many  a  trustful  feeling,  many  a  chivalric 
resolve,  and  be  content  to  perceive  many  a  vision  splendid 
"die  away,  and  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day." 

"Well,  uncle,"  replied  Frederick,  laughing,  "if  mine 


THE     REV.     EGBERT     MORE  IT.  59 

be  the  only  age  for  proper  appreciation  of  benefits,  it  is 
as  well  that  I  should  now  obtain  as  much  of  them  as 
possible;  so,  until  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  of  the  Porcu- 
pine comes,  will  you  lend  me  five  pounds?" 

A  youth  of  equal  impulsiveness  but  less  sagacity  would 
have  asked  for  exactly  the  sum  requisite  for  his  present 
needs,  but  blaster  Frederick  Galton  was  not  the  boy  to 
put  himself  under  an  unpleasant  obligation  (for  there  is 
only  one  uncle  in  the  world,  and  common  to  the  whole 
race  of  civilized  mortals,  whose  loans  imply  nothing  of 
favor)  for  the  miserable  consideration  of  thirty  shillings. 

^'  There,  then,"  cried  the  curate,  handing  the  lad  the 
money ;  "  and  I  will  excuse  you  your  note  of  hand." 

"  I  have  one  more  request  to  make  yet,  uncle — that 
you  vrill  say  nothing  for  the  present  to  my  father  about 
my  choosing  literature  for  my  future  profession." 

"Certainly  I  shall  not,"  replied  Mr.  Morrit,  curtly; 
"and,  indeed,  I  sincerely  hope  that  he  may  never  need 
to  hear  of  it  at  all.  Till  Christmas  comes,  Frederick,  we 
ourselves  will  talk  no  more  of  it,  for  I  would  much 
rather  that  we  should  agree  with  one  another,  lad,  than 
quarrel.  There  is  no  time  now  fi)r  the  '  Seven  against 
Thebes'  this  morning,  for  I  am  going  hawking  with  the 
Tregarthens  in  half  an  hour." 

"  Is  there  hawking  to-day,  sir?"  cried  the  young  man, 
starting  up  with  an  expression  of  disappointment :  "and 
there's  Bolus  with  his  off  fore-leg  so  swelled  that  I  dare 
not  take  him  out." 

"Come  out  on  Tentoes,t\\Qv\ — on  Shanls  his  mare,  as 
Squire  Meyrick  facetiously  calls  it.  The  meet  is  at 
AVhitcorabe  AVarren.  A  lad  like  you  should  be  able  to 
run  by  the  side  of  my  cob  at  his  best  speed,  and  besides, 
you  shall  take  hold  of  my  stirrup-leather." 


60  M  A  R  E  I  E  D      B  E  X  E  A  T  II      HIM. 

CHAPTEE    Y. 

A  day's  hawkixg  and  its  results. 

^^  ^T^HE  clouds  are  lianging  low,  Fred,"  quoth  Mr. 
J_  Morrit,  as  his  stout  cob  clattered  along  the  ill- 
paved  village  street;  "I  fear  we  shall  have  wet  jackets 
before  the  day  is  over." 

"Here  comes  the  weather-wise  squire  trotting  after you," 
returned  the  lad  from  the  raised  foot-pavement :  "  for  a 
man  who  so  seldom  rises  above  the  earth,  his  information 
as  to  what  is  coming  from  the  skies  is  marvellous." 

Thereupon  up  rode  Mr.  ^leyrick — a  weatlier-worn 
gentleman  of  sixty,  whose  face  would  have  been  emi- 
nently handsome,  had  not  Xature  omitted  in  it  the  ele- 
ment of  expression  altogether — in  spotless  cords,  but 
with  a  shooting-jacket  as  black  as  the  parson's  and  a 
hazel  switch  in  his  hand  in  place  of  a  hunting-whip. 
'*  How  are  you,  Morrit?  How  are  you,  young  gentle- 
man?" (the  latter  salutation  being  by  no  means  so 
cordial  as  the  former,  for  he  was  suspicious  of  youthful 
bookworms,  and  perhaps  a  little  jealous  of  Frederick's 
well-known  superiority  to  his  own  boy). 

"  I  am  hanged  if  I  know  what  I  ought  to  put  on  for 
such  a  sport  as  this.  One  can't  wear  one's  coursing 
uniform,  nor  yet  the  green  coat  one  uses  for  the  thistle- 
Avhippers." 

As  a  fox-hunter,  Mr.  Meyrick  had  a  supreme  contem})t 
for  the  hounds  called  harriers,  and  indeed  for  most  pur- 
suits and  pastimes  except  fox-hunting;  but.  Mr.  Tre- 
garthen  had  sent  round  to  give  notice  that  his  hawks 
would  be  flown  on  this  particular  day,  and  the  squire  had 
made  a  point  of  attending  the  sport,  as  a  personal  favor 
to  that  gentleman. 

"Put  on  your  red  coat,  man,"  replied  the  parson, 
gravely ;  "  scarlet  is  the  only  wear  for  hawking  in." 


A    day's    ha ^V K I X G .  61 

"^lyred  coat!''  replied  the  squirCj  with  indignation. 
"  I'd  like  to  see  myself  riding  after  yon  carrion  kites  in 
pink."  And  indeed  the  donning  of  that  sacred  attire  for 
such  a  purpose — stained  at  the  tails  though  the  garment 
was,  as  though  it  had  been  used  for  pen-wijjing — would 
have  appeared  to  !Mr.  ^leyrick  no  less  a  sacrilege  than 
the  turning  out  in  full  canonicals  after  a  fox  would  have 
seemed  to  the  Anglican  curate. 

^''Your  ancestors,  however,  were  wont  to  hawk  in 
colored  coats  before  now,"  returned  Mr.  Morrit ;  ^^and 
perhaps  in  this  very  Chaldcote  Bottom  to  which  we  are 
now  bound.  The  ancient  Britons,  they  say,  first  taught 
the  pastime  to  the  Rorftans." 

"Ay,  ay,  but  that  was  in  very  old  times,"  quoth  the 
Franklin  apologetically,  but  not  a  little  gratified,  too, 
Avith  this  reference  to  the  antiquity  of  his  race. 

"Yes,  sir,"  interposed  Frederick,  laughing,  "and  their 
coats  were  for  the  most  part  coats  of  paint.  On  a  day 
such  as  this  is  like  to  be,  you  might  have  gone  out  as 
brave  as  a  rainbow,  and  yet  returned  washed  out,  to  the 
homeliest  flesh  color,  with  nothing  but  a  draggled  feather 
in  your  hair  to  distinguish  you  from  your  humblest 
tenant." 

This  picture  of  Mr.  Meyrick's  return  from  hawking  in 
the  olden  time  set  the  curate  shaking  with  inward  merri- 
ment ;  but  the  squire  was  by  no  means  so  well  pleased, 
and  began  to  mutter  certain  statements  of  what  he  would 
have  done  with  any  impertinent  young  jackanapes,  if 
Providence  had  seen  good  to  curse  him  with  a  son  of  that 
description.  It  was  perhaps  we.l  for  the  general  harmony 
that  his  o^vn  offspring  at  that  moment,  mounted  upon  the 
long-tailed  Lightfoot,  came  galloping  up,  at  the  sight  of 
whom  the  ire  of  the  old  gentleman  gave  place  at  once  to 
parental  admiration.  The  lad,  indeed,  was  good-looking 
enough,  and  rode  like  a  centaur. 

"  How  is't  thou  art  so  late,  boy  ?  Thou  art,  I  doubt, 
but  a  dawdling  chap,"  growled  Mr.  Meyrick,  "  and  wilt 
ever  be  after  the  fair;"  by  which   he  did  not  mean  the 


62  M  A  R  E  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HTM. 

fair  sex,  ^vho  liad  not  yet  become  a  pursuit  with  ]Master 
John,  but  a  villaoe  festival. 

It  was  his  hutnor  thus  to  chide  the  youth  on  various 
occasions,  while  in  his  secret  heart  he  considered  him  to 
closely  resemble  the  angels;  and  never  more  so  than 
when,  as  now,  he  had  his  hunting  leathers  on,  and  looked 
— every  inch  of  his  five  feet  eight — a  perfect  sportsman. 

"  I  stayed,  father,  to  help  Bob  give  Mortimer  his  oil ; 
that  dog  has  been  out  of  sorts  this  long  time." 

'My,  ay,"  returned  the  squire,  proudly,  with  a  glance 
at  Frederick,  which  seemed  to  say :  '^  And  when  were  you 
ever  so  usefully  employed,  I  should  like  to  know?" 

Frederick  was  by  no  means  "flaunted  by  that  look, 
althougli  he  perfectly  understood  it ;  but  presently  Master 
John  remarked  upon  the  fact  of  young  Galtou's  being  on 
foot  as  a  circumstance  caused  by  his  own  carelessness. 
''  I  knew  Bolus  would  go  lame  of  that  forefoot,  Fred,  if 
something  was  not  done  for  it.  If  he  had  been  my  nag, 
I  bet  he  would  have  been  carrying  me  to-day,  and  as 
sound  as  sixpence!" 

'^  You  see,"  replied  Frederick,  tartly,  who  was  some- 
what out  of  breath,  and  perhaps  out  of  temper,  with  run- 
ning by  the  side  of  his  mounted  companions,  who  were 
by  this  time  in  full  trot — *'  you  see,  I  have  not  the  good 
fortune  to  be  a  horse-doctor." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  doctor's  son,  at  all  events,"  replied 
Johnny,  coarsely  ;  "  and  there's  very  little  difference  be- 
tween working  up  balls  for  horses  and  pills  for Oh, 

that's  your  game,  is  it?"  and  the  lad  was  off  his  horse  in 
a  moment,  picking  up  stones  for  reply  to  the  missile 
which  had  whizzed  within  a  hair's  breadth  qf  his  head, 
before  he  coukl  conclude  his  uncourteous  parallel.  Mr. 
Morrit's  face,  too,  was  scarlet,  even  to  the  very  ears  that 
had  overheard  young  Meyrick's  remarks ;  and  the  squire, 
perceiving  this,  hastened  to  interfere  between  the  belliger- 
ents, whom  he  woukl  else  perhaps  have  permitted  to 
fight  it  out  themselves,  being  well  convinced  that  in  any 
physical  argument  his  sturdy  son  would  get  the  better. 


A     DAY^S     HAAVKING.  63 

"  Drop  you  that  stone,  John,"  cried  he,  in  a  tone  such 
as  he  was  wont  to  use  in  rating  his  dogs.  "  1  will  have 
no  brawling  here:  ywi  insulted  the  young  fellow  first, 
and  through  his  father,  too,  who  is  as  good  a  man  as  any 
in  the  county.     Drop  that  stone,  I  say.'^ 

^^  Come  along,  Fred,''  exclaimed  the  curate,  not  alto- 
gether sorry  to  see  the  boy  so  prompt  to  defend  the  paren- 
tal scutcheon.  "  Take  hold  of  my  stirrup  leather,  for 
here  is  the  turf  at  last,  and  we  must  canter  on,  if  we 
Avould  be  in  time.  There  is  no  boy  worth  a  farthing  who 
can  bear  malice  after  a  run  on  the  Downs.  It  seems  to 
me  that  a  clear  wind  like  this  clean  blows  all  the  evil  out 
of  one,  and  leaves  us  all  pure  within,  like  a  newly-ven- 
tilated chamber." 

^My,  ay,"  assented  the  squire ;  "  it  does  give  one  an 
appetite,  for  certain." 

And  with  that  the  little  company  set  off  at  a  hand-gal- 
lop, which  for  nearly  half  a  mile  did  not  need  to  be 
moderated  for  the  sake  of  the  agile  boy  on  foot.  Perhaps 
his  pluck  excited  the  admiration  of  IJghtfoofs  rider,  or 
perhaps,  as  the  curate  said,  the  air  and  motion  had  really 
an  exorcising  effect  upon  the  demon  of  ill-will,  for  when 
they  pulled  up,  John  Meyrick  at  once  dismounted,  and 
offered  his  steed  to  Frederick. 

"Jump  up,"  cried  he,  '^and  let  us  ride  and  tie,  as  we 
have  done  scores  of  times  before  now.  I  am  sure  you 
must  be  tired." 

But  the  other,  though  appeased  at  once  by  the  kindly 
offer,  protested  that  he  was  not  tired,  and  that  nothing 
would  induce  him  to  ride  in  his  w^alking-clothes  wdiile 
John  in  top  boots  went  on  foot — a  proceeding  quite 
inconsistent* with  the  eternal  fitness  of  things.  Perhaps 
John  Meyrick  was  not  sorry  for  this  (for  he  w^as  proud 
of  his  seat  on  horseback,  and  would  scarcely  have  liked 
to  have  met  the  "  field,"  composed  as  it  was  sure  to  be 
of  many  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  county,  witliout  Ligldfoot 
under  him),  but  he  professed  to  be  so;  and  when  Fred 
secretly  slipped  the  thirty  shillings,  lost  to  him  on  the 


61  3IARKIED      BENEATH      HIM. 

Round  tliat  morning,  into  his  hand,  he  said  he  wa^ 
ashamed  to  win  so  large  a  sum  from  him — which  he  w/s 
not  in  the  least.  Upon  each  of  these  "tarry  diddles/' or 
white  lies,  however,  we  will  hope  the  recording  a^igel 
dropped  an  accnirate  tear,  as  their  sole  intention^  and  in- 
deed eifect,  was  but  to  reconcile.  And  so,  in  the  same 
circumstances  as  they  started,  the  four,  after  no  little 
travel,  arrived  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  that  looked  down 
on  Chaldcote  Bottom.  This  was  a  broad  level,  plentifully 
sown  with  "turnups''  (the  i  being  changed  into  u  in  that 
euphonious  district),  and  at  the  foot  of  those  steep  green 
hills  which  skirt  the  Downs  almost  everywhere. 

The  meet  was  appointed  there  for  the  convenience  of 
the  gentlemen  of  the  vale,  but  they  had  to  ascend,  of 
course,  before  the  sport  began,  to  the  grass-land.  The 
Casterton  party,  therefore,  waited  for  them  upon  the  liigh 
ground,  from  which  the  whole  scene  could  be  accurately 
observed,  and  the  dramatis  j)^rsonce  recognized.  Espe- 
cially remarkable  among  them  stood  out  two  stalwart 
forms :  one  of  these  was  Mr.  Tregarthen,  of  Tregarthen, 
to  whose  efforts  the  resuscitation  of  the  ancient  sport  vras 
due,  a  magnate  of  the  county,  with  a  landed  property  of 
some  twelve  thousand  a  year : 

A  great  broad-shoulderecl  genial  Englishman  ; 

A  lord  of  fet  prize-oxen  and  of  sheep ; 

A  raiser  of  huge  melons  and  of  pine ; 

A  patron  of  some  thirty  charities ; 

A  pamphleteer  on  guano  and  on  gi-ain  ; 

A  quarter-sessions  chairman,  abler  none  ; 

Fair  haired,  and  redder  than  a  windv  morn. 

The  other  most  remarkable  figure  w'as  the  curate's  far- 
away cousin,  Mr.  Thomas  Morrit.  Although  he  had 
more  than  once  been  brought  to  death's  door  by  drink, 
and  was  even  now  said  to  be  on  the  point  of  paying  him 
another  visit,  still  he  made  a  goodly  show,  like  some  huge 
tower  W'hose  walls  have  been  sapped  and  undermined. 

A  gentleman  of  broken  means,  much  given  to  starts 
nnd  bursts  of  reyel,  but  who  QOUld  sing  a  good  song  ;^et 


65 

— which  was,  however,  in  no  case  a  hymn — in  a  voice  not 
altogether  spoiled  by  dramSj  and  who  rode  a  bit  of  blood 
(the  last  of  a  goodly  stud)  five  days  a  week  to  foxhounds, 
harriers,  hawks^  or  whatever  else  was  to  be  ridden  to. 
At  sight  of  him,  the  curate's  brow  grew  dark,  and  his 
lips  moved,  shaping,  it  may  be,  some  pious  wish  for  his 
relative's  reformation ;  he  forgave  him,  perhaps,  but  he 
was  unable,  despite  several  efforts,  to  forget  him,  and  it 
was  clear  that  the  good  man's  mirth  was  marred  for  the 
day.  Nevertheless,  his  antiquarian  heart  was  stirred 
Avithin  him  at  sight  of  the  falconer  with  his  bird  upon  his 
wrist — the  magnificent  Iceland  hawk  far  finer  than  those 
from  Wales  or  Scotland  used  in  the  olden  times — hooded 
and  feathered  like  a  knight  with  his  visor  down,  with  his 
vrhite  lure  (an  imitation  pigeon)  and  his  string  of  bells. 
Some  half-a-dozen  other  hawks  were  carried  by  an  attend- 
ant on  foot,  upon  a  sort  of  hoop,  so  that  there  should  be 
no  lack  of  sport,  if  only  the  game  were  plentiful — not  the 
stately  heron,  alas  !  in  these  degenerate  days,  but  anything 
they  can  get;  and  on  the  Downs  the  noble  creatures  must 
needs  stoop  to  carrion,  and  check  at  the  astonished  crow. 

The  knot  of  horsemen  collected  about  these  objects  of 
interest  was  considerable,  and  the  whole  cavalcade  began 
slowly  to  ascend  the  hill ;  as  they  did  so,  the  little  bells 
around  the  legs  of  the  captive  birds  jangled  merrily,  and 
they  moved  their  plumed  heads  excitedly  from  side  to 
side,  as  though  they  knew  their  freedom  was  at  hand. 

"  What  a  queer  hunting-field  it  is  ? "  remarked  Mr. 
John  Meyrick.  "  I'm  hanged  if  they  don't  look  like  the 
mummers  ! " 

"  Thev  revived  old  usages  thoroughly  worn  out, 
The  souls  of  them  fumed  forth,  the  hearts  of  them  torn  out," 

murmured  Frederick,  quoting  beneath  his  breath  froni 
one  of  his  uncle's  hated  moderns. 

^^  What  a  patrician  look  they  have ! "  exclaimed  Mr, 
Morrit,  enthusiastically.     '^  It  is  certainly  j^ar  excellence 
the  sport  of  a  gentleroari,    The  very  tecboical  names 
4 


66  MAEEIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

belonging  to  it  have  an  old  world  and  peculiar  quaint- 
ness  about  them — mantlintr,  and  suiting:,  and  pluminc, 
cancelienng.  ' 

''And  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Meyrick, 
contemptuously.  ^^  What  do  you  understand  by  that 
very  fine  name  you  mentioned  last,  for  instance,  can- 
celiering  ?  ^^ 

The  curate  colored,  and  pretended  not  to  hear. 

"Come,  what  is  it?'^  persisted  the  merciless  squire. 

Fred  let  go  the  stirrup-leather,  and  ran  away  scream- 
ing with  laughter,  out  of  reach  of  his  uncle's  riding-whip. 
Master  John  Meyrick  and  his  father  roared  with  merri- 
ment like  bulls ;  it  was  so  very  seldom  that  the  curate  com- 
mitted himsetf  by  talking  of  what  he  did  not  understand. 

"  The  leathers  by  which  the  bells  are  attached  to  their 
legs  are  called  bewits,^^  pursued  the  antiquary  ;  "  the  thong 
by  which  the  falconer  holds  the  hawk  is  termed  the  leash." 

"  I  know  that,  parson,"  ejaculated  the  squire,  "  and  so 
does  every  man  who  keeps  a  greyhound  ;  but  what  is  can- 
cel ierin^?" 

The  curate  was  glad  to  catch  sight  of  his  friend  Mr. 
Tregarthen,  as  an  excuse  for  riding  away  from  his  tor- 
mentor. Then  the  whole  company  moved  slowly  over 
the  Downs  with  their  eyes  in  the  air,  as  though  they 
were  taking  observations  of  the  sun.  Presently,  they 
came  upon  the  feeding-ground  of  those  consequential 
birds,  the  rooks.  Xumbers  of  them  were  pacing  the 
green-sward  in  the  most  solemn  and  decorous  manner, 
and  in  the  glossiest  of  black  coats,  as  though  each  were 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  some  distinguished  deceased,  on 
whom  it  was  his  duty  to  pronounce  a  funeral  sermon. 
They  pecked  into  the  ground  occasionally  with  their 
sombre  beaks,  but  nothing  seemed  to  come'of  it,  and  it 
appeared  to  be  their  especial  desire  afterwards  to  look  as 
if  they  had  not  done  it. 

'•  It  is  jolly  to  live  like  a  great  fat  crow, 
For  no  one  doth  eat  him  wherever  he  goes!" 

exclaimed  Frederick,  iucautiouslv. 


HAWKIXG.  67 

"  That  smacks  of  your  now-a-day  poetaster,"  observed 
his  uncle  C|uiet]y.  "  It  is  not  good,  and  it  is  not  true,  as 
you  Aviil  presently  see." 

Even  while  he  spoke,  this  little  army  of  black  Bruns- 
wickers  rose  heavily,  spread  out  tlieir  sable  wings,  and 
flapped  slowly  away,  like  a  nightmare  that  is  loath  to 
leave  a  sleeping  man.  As  soon  as  they  had  risen  to  some 
height,  the  falconer  unfastened  the  hood  of  one  of  the  splen- 
did birds  he  carried,  and  its  large  eyes  flashed  forth  like 
lanterns  on  the  night.  After  a  preliminary  blink  or  two, 
it  surveyed  the  fields  of  air  as  though  it  were  their  sole 
proprietor,  and  it  was  looking  out  for  trespassers.  Then, 
all  on  a  sudden  its  gaze  lit  upon  the  sluggish  squadron — 
for  the,  rook,  except  at  chess,  is  a  slow  mover — and  his 
jesses  were  at  once  unfastened,  and  the  cruel  creature 
was  away.  As  soon  as  the  quarry  became  aware  of  the 
strange  and  terrible  tyrant  that  was  coming  up  with 
them,  they  separated  in  all  directions,  and  the  hawk 
for  one  instant  vacillated,  like  an  alderman  in  an  em- 
barrassment of  dishes.  Immediately  afterwards,  he  had 
fixed  upon  his  particular  crow  to  pick,  and  pursued  him, 
and  him  alone,  thenceforward,  with  the  pertinacity  of 
a  weasel  after  a  hare. 

He  seemed  to  make  rushes  at  him,  and  to  miss  him,  as 
a  too  eager  greyhound  darts  at  and  overruns  his  game ; 
Mr.  Meyrick  expressed  his  contempt  for  the  performance 
by  that  comparison.  At  last,  however,  as  though  a 
thuiKlerbolt  had  indeed  been  shot  from  the  bulging 
clouds,  which  were  growing  darker  and  darker  momenta- 
rily, a  black  mass  made  up  of  pursuer  and  pursued 
dropped  almost  perpendicularly  earthward ;  the  hawk 
had  stooped  successfully.  Ere  it  touched  ground,  how- 
ever, was  heard  the  falconer'-s  shrill  call,  and  the  bird's 
precipitous  descent  was  arrested  upon  the  instant,  and  it 
came  off",  as  if  at  right  angles,  to  his  master,  bearing  the 
rook  in  his  triumphant  talons.  In  the  meantime,  the 
more  excitable  of  the  company  had  been  at  racing-speed 
for  several   minutes,  and   more  than  one  had  paid  the 


68  MARRIED      B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

penalty  of  his  too  ambitious  gaze  by  coming,  horse  and 
man,  to  Mother  Earth. 

The  deep  rnts,  so  deserving  the  attention  of  the  fly- 
ing horsemen,  that  intersect  the  Downs  in  all  directions, 
had  sent  them  headlong,  and  loud  was  the  laughter  from 
the  more  prudent  that  greeted  their  fall.  The  curate  had 
to  thank  his  nephew  for  his  own  escape  from  a  similar 
calamity,  for  his  blind  enthusiasm  would  have  led  him 
once  across  a  rabbit-warren,  where  the  cob  would  have 
been  certain  to  have  put  his  foot  into  it,  and,  again  to 
charge  the  Ridgeway  itself — at  that  particular  spot  at 
least  five  feet  high — had  not  the  voice  at  his  stirrup- 
leather  directed  his  rapt  regards  to  earthly  matters. 
There  were  several  more  flights  after  the  black  game, 
with  more  or  less  successful  results.  Sometimes  the  hawk 
would  seize  the  rook  from  beneath,  and  then  descend  with 
it,  which  is  called  trmslng,  but  the  stooping  from  above 
was  the  more  common  practice,  and,  in  the  pursuit  of  the 
rook,  destitute  of  danger,  though  in  that  of  the  heron  held 
to  be  unsafe,  on  account  of  that  sagacious  bird  presenting 
his  bill  at  the  most  inconvenient  time — like  a  tailor  in 
August — and  receiving  the  hawk  upon  its  point,  who  is 
thereby  spitted.  The  day  was  wearing  into  the  after- 
noon, and  making  a  worse  appearance,  as  regarded  the 
weather,  than  ever,  when  a  couple  of  hawks  were  flown 
at  once,  with  the  intent  that  they  should  work  together 
upon  a  common  quarry;  but  instead  of  this,  they  sepa- 
rated, one  of  them  disappearing  in  the  inky  firuiament,  and 
the  other,  to  the  still  greater  distraction  of  the  falconer,  into 
a  distant  sheepfold,  with  the  apparent  determination  of 
taking  a  little  lamb.  In  the  middle  of  this,  the  rain 
came  down  like  a  torrent.  Mr.  Tregarthen  of  Tregar- 
then  gave  vent  to  certain  quaint  but  very  irreverent 
expressions,  which  were  held  to  be  a  sort  of  heirloom  in 
his  ancient  family. 

Mr.  Thomas  Morrit  cursed  himself  in  excellent  Saxon 
for  being  such  an  idiot  as  to  get  himself  wet  through  at 
such  a  sport  as  rook-hunting ;  and  the  t^urate  venturing 


A    day's    ha  w  king.  69 

no  word  of  condolence -with  the  proprietor  of  the  hawks, 
and  not  perhaps  without  a  sly  lauoh  in  jiis  already  satu- 
rated sleeve,  turned  his  cob's  head  homeward.  The  rest 
of  the  company,  setting  their  coat-collars  up  like  angry 
cats,  started  off  at  once  for  what  each  might  deem  his 
nearest  shelter. 

There  was,  however,  no  teda  within  three  miles  for  any 
mounted  man  of  them;  and  Frederick  for  the  first  time 
congratulated  himself  upon  being  on  foot,  as  he  crept 
under  a  well-stuffed  shepherd's  hurdle  that  happened  to 
stand  beside  the  Ridgeway — albeit  there  was  but  small 
chance  of  any  Dido  joining  him  there.  His  appearance, 
viewed  from  without,  was,  of  course,  ridiculous  enough, 
his  place  of  refuge  being  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
trap  which  boyhood  sets  for  small  birds  in  the  winter, 
with  only  a  slanting  hedge-stake  to  prevent  it  falling 
upon  its  occupant,  but  it  kept  him  as  dry  and  warm  as  a 
young  lad  at  sixteen  ought  ever  to  need  to  be.  Fast  as 
it  poured  then,  however,  it  was  nothing  to  what  was 
coming,  for,  through  the  slanting  lines  of  the  herald 
shower,  he  could  perceive  the  wall  of  rain  advancing 
from  the  west  until  it  darkened  the  air  around  him,  and 
brought  home  to  him  for  the  first  time  what  the  parish 
schoolmaster  had  striven  in  vain  to  teach  him — how  the 
motion  of  a  plane  produces  a  solid.  It  was  a  grand  sight, 
but  after  a  little,  he  began  to  draw  upon  his  mental 
resources  for  means  whereby  to  pass  the  time.  He  tried 
to  picture  to  himself  how  the  case  would  have  stood  if 
this  had  been  the  universal  deluge,  and  he  were  the  last 
man,  and  would,  perhaps,  have  conceived  something 
epical,  but  that  the  steadfast  furious  down-pour  began  to 
have  its  effect  upon  the  covering  of  the  hurdle,  which 
distilled  little  rills  of  rain  upon  him — a  slight  inconven- 
ience indeed,  but  it  takes  such  a  very  little  to  interrupt 
poetical  composition  ;  then  he  fell  back  upon  the  intel- 
lectual stores  of  others,  and  commenced  crooning  to  him- 
self the  songs  and  ballads  that  were  dearest  to  him,  a 
most  excellent  way  of  whiling  away  solitude,  as  well  as 


70  M  A  E  R  I  E  T)     BENEATH     HIM. 

improving  the  memory,  and  in  every  respect  superior  to 
the  more  popular  custom  of  whistling  the  mere  airs  of 
the  same — discharging  the  musket  without  the  ball. 

Having  exhausted  himself  with  rhymes,  he  tried 
blank  verse,  and  declaimed  to  the  elements  in  the  lan- 
guage of  King  Lear,  who,  indeed,  could  scarcely  have 
been  treated  by  them  worse  than  he  himself  was,  except 
that  he  had  his  hurdle;  so  that  if  any  native  had  chanced 
to  pass  that  desolate  place  in  the  tempest,  and  heard  him, 
it  would  have  been  noted  as  a  haunted  spot  for  the  future 
in  the  spiritual  chart  of  the  Down-country. 

Scarce  a  thorn-tree  there  stands  ragged  and  bare,  and 
spectral  with  the  wool  it  has  torn  from  passing  sheep, 
but  a  mother  and  her  love-child,  at  the  very  least,  have 
perished  under  it  most  miserably;  and  let  the  wind  be 
soft  or  loud,  you  ma/always  hear  her  dying  lullaby  as 
you  pass  it.  Scarce  a  plantation  lifts  its  trembling  head, 
and  cowers  under  the  hillside,  but  Long  Jack,  or  Wild 
Tom  the  gamekeeper,  has  there  been  found  one  winter's 
morning,  stiff  and  stark,  with  a  jagged  hole  in  his  breast, 
and  the  black  blood  oozing,  who  never  fails  to  make  his 
moan  o'  nights  to  the  belated  travel ler„  But  as  for  the 
fairies,  who  still  hold  their  midnight  dances  on  the 
Downs,  as  the  fresh '^rings''  testifv,  and  under  whose 
feet^  spring  up  the  visible  flowers,  their  very  existence  is 
denied,  except  by  the  merest  children,  and  all  the  charm- 
ing stories  appertaining  to  them  are  ousted  quite  by  these 
raw-head  and  bloody-bone  legends. 

Frederick  had  never  heard  a  single  word  of  the  ^Hittle 
folk"  from  Mrs.  Hartopp,  or  any  of  his  Casterton  gos- 
sips; but  the  tale  of  the  Phantom  Huntsman  of  Chald- 
cote  Bottom  he  had  heard,  who  cheered  his  skeleton 
hounds  not  only  cup  in  hand,  but  with  his  head  in  it. 
Fred  was  not  habitually  a  believer  in  ghosts ;  but  in  that 
time  of  storm  and  solitude  it  Avas  not  without  a  tremor 
that  he  became  for  the  first  time  conscious  of  other 
sounds  about  him  than  that  made  by  the  monotonous 
torrent.     They  seemed  to  shape  themselves  into  ^^  Hey 


A     day's     HA\VKI^'G.  71 

ho,  hey  ho,"  like  the  sigh  of  a  weary  man,  or  like  the 
faint  "  Tally  ho,"  as  Fred  thought,  of  the  huntsman  in 
question,  who,  it  was  most  probable,  might  by  this  time 
be  excessively  blast  with  his  pursuit.  It  could  scarcely, 
however,  be  the  headless  horseman,  for  how  could  he 
sigh?  Was  it  the  wind  in  the  hurdle?  Xo;  the  wind 
never  sang  a  song  like  this : 

Love  is  a  sickness  ^ull  of  woes, 
All  remedies  refusing ; 
A  plant  that  -with  most  cutting  grows, 
Most  barren  with  best  using. 

Why  so? 
If  we  enjoy  it,  then  it  flies ; 
If  not  enjoyed,  it  sighing  cries : 

Hey  ho. 

This  was  the  song  to  which  the  ^^  Hey  ho "  belonged, 
and  well  Fred  knew  both  it  and  the  singer — blithe  Jacob 
Lunes  of  Casterton,  ordinarily  dealer  in  snuff  and  tobacco 
in  that  village,  and  carrier  three  times  a  week  between  it 
and  the  nearest  railway  station.  On  he  came  along  the 
Ridgeway,  splashing  beside  his  large  black  mare,  as 
though  all  over  head  was  blue ;  albeit,  his  smock-frock, 
embroidered  daintily  upon  the  breast,  as  though  he  was 
some  peripatetic  high-priest,  clung  to  his  legs,  wet 
through,  and  his  wide-awake  hat  was  as  a  little  hill 
with  a  moat  around  it. 

Love  is  a  torment  of  the  mind, 
A  tempest  everlasting : 
A  Heaven  has  made  it  of  a  kind 
Not  well  nor  full,  nor  fasting. 

Why  so? 
If  we  enjoy  it,  soon  it  dies ; 
If  not  enjoyed,  it  sighing  cries : 

Hev  ho. 

"Jacob!" 

"  Master  Frederick  !  ^Vhy.  who  would  have  thought 
of  seeing  vou  here,  or  indeed  any  human  creature!  How 
you  scared  me  with  your  rantin'!  I  was  a-singing  only 
to  drown  my  fear  of  bogles.     There — get  up  in  the  cart, 


72  M  A  R  E  I  E  D     BENEATH      HIM. 

do,  and  keep  thyself  dry.  Xot  but  that  the  rain 
Avill  do  a  power  of  good,  and  is  excellent  for  the  turn- 
ups.'^ 

It  was  the  specialty  of  the  cheerful  carrier  to  see  good 
in  everything.  If  Leckhamsley  Round,  which,  as  every- 
body knows,  contains  little  beyond  bones  of  men  some 
fifty  generations  dead,  and  old-world  coins  and  spear- 
heads, had  suddenly  become  an  active  volcano,  and 
emitted  streams  of  burning  lava,  Jacob  would  have  ex- 
})ressed  his  opinion  that  it  would  be  doubtless  a  good 
thing  for  the  land.  Fred  clambered  up  the  front  of  the 
vehicle,  and  from  under  its  hospitable  canopy  endeavored 
to  hold  colloquy  with  its  proprietor  without;  but  the 
thing  was  impossible.  He  saw  Jacob  opening  his  mouth 
at  fullest  stretch,  but  whether  to  yawn  or  to  make  an 
observation,  the  violence  of  the  storm  would  not  permit 
him  to  know. 

The  carrier's  finger,  however,  pointed  unmistakably  to 
the  interior  of  the  cart,  which  was  half-filled  with  mon- 
strous packages,  and  lay  in  shadow,  and  j)resentlv  the 
lad's  eyes  followed  its  direction,  and  fell  upon  the  fairest 
sight  they  had  ever  yet  beheld. 

A  young  damsel,  very  simply  dressed,  and  modest- 
looking,  slightly  blushing,  and  yet  shyly  smilincr,  with 
her  long-lashed  eyelids  drooped  demurely  over  dimpling 
cheeks,  was  sitting  close  behind  him,  so  close  that  his 
elbow  almost  touched  her.  Her  attire  was  humble,  and 
she  sat  upon  one  of  those  corded  trunks  (which  none  but 
females  going  out  to  service  use),  originally,  perhaps, 
covered  with  hair,  yet  never  seen  by  mortal  except  in  a 
mangy  and  semi-bald  condition,  like  the  unhealthy  hide 
of  the  tiger  who  is  also  a  man-eater.  And  yet  her  face 
was  delicate,  and  more  than  commonly  soft  in  its  expres- 
sion : 

A  daughter  of  our  raeadovrs,  yet  not  coarse ; 
Straight,  but  as  lissom  as  a  hazel  wand ; 
Her  eyes  a  bashful  azure,  and  her  hair, 
In  gloss  and  hue,  the  chestnut,  -when  the  shell 
Pivides  threefold  to  show  the  fruit  within, 


A     DAYS     HAWKING.  To 

Fred  moved  aside  with  a  muttered  apology  for  turiiiiicr 
his  back  to  her,  and  thereby  placed  liimself  within  reacli 
of  tlie  rain. 

He  was  not  wont  to  be  indifferent  to  such  little  incon- 
veniences, and  he  had  a  reputation  for  never  being  at  a 
.  loss  for  words ;  but  now  he  was  content  to  be  wet,  and 
have  nothing  to  say  for  himself.  If  it  had  been  light 
enough  for  her  to  perceive  the  nape  of  his  neck,  she 
might  have  easily  concluded  that  he  was  blushing  all 
over  very  considerably.  He  was  too  well  mannered  to 
stare,  but  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  help  throwing 
an  occasional  sidelong  glance  upon  this  entrancing  and 
unexampled  vision. 

One  of  these  uncredentialed  ambassadors  met  a  similar 
embassage  about  to  set  furtively  forth  ^ from  the  maiden^s 
eyes.  The  mutual  embarrassment  then  reached  its 
climax,  and  it  became  necessary  to  clothe  the  shameful 
silence  with  a  word  or  two.  The  maiden  herself  was  the 
first  to  set  about  that  duty,  and  with  a  modest  serenity 
observed,  ^'  it  is  very  wet,  sir.'^ 

The  remark  v»^as  in  itself  judicious,  as  not  admitting 
of  contradiction,  while  it  courted  sympathy;  but  the 
blush  and  tone  with  which  it  was  accompanied  would 
have  recommended  a  much  less  objectionable  exclamation. 
Indeed,  I  doubt  whether  Master  Frederick  heard  the 
mere  words  at  all. 

To  liim  they  mattered  not  one  tittle. 

If  those  bright  lips  had  quoted  Locke, 

He  would  have  thought  they  murmured  Little. 

As  soon  as  he  knew  she  had  spoken,  the  charm  that 
had  enchained  his  tongue  was  removed.  He  was  solici- 
tous to  know  at  what  spot  the  storm  had  overtaken  the 
cart ;  and  when  he  found  that  she  was  a  stranger  to  the 
district,  there  was  ever  so  much  to  be  said  upon  that  sub- 
ject. As  he  spoke  of  the  hawking,  too,  the  girl  listened 
with  interest  to  his  account  of  a  sport  with  which  it 
seemed  she  had  already  had  through  books  some  little 


74  MAHRIED     BEIS-EATH     HIM. 

acquaintance.  The  talk  was  wlioliy  on  Fred's  side,  but 
her  rapt  looks  were  worth  a  hundred  ^'Pray  go  ons^^  and 
^'How  delightfids.^^  The  manifestly  unequal  relation  of 
these  young  persons  to  one  another  was  soon  lost  sight 
of  in  that  of  eloquent  narrator  and  grateful  recipient. 

They  were  both  amazed,  and  turned  impatiently  to 
Jacob,  when  the  carrier  put  his  head  in  at  the  opening 
of  the  tilt  behind,  and  said,  "  Now,  here  we  are,  almost 
at  journey's  end,  Master  Frederick.'^ 

The  cart,  indeed,  had  reached  the  entrance  of  the  vil- 
lage. The  rain  was  over  and  gone,  and  the  sun  shining, 
although  they  knew  nothing  about  it. 

"  I  am  sorry  we  have  to  part  so  soon,"  said  Frederick, 
earnestly,  imagining  that  this  young  divinity  was  bound 
for  the  farmhouse  that  stood  close  by. 

"  I  am  sorry,  too,  sir,"  answered  the  young  girl,  simply. 

Master  Frederick  Galton  held  out  his  hand  to  say 
"Good-by." 

"  Why,  you  needn't  be  shaking  han^ls,  you  two," 
quoth  the  carrier,  laughing,  ^^  for  you  are  both  bound  for 
the  same  house;  only  I  thought  the  parson  would  not 
like  it,  if  his  nephew  should  be  seen  coming  tiirough 
Casterton  in  my  cart  along  with  the  young  Avoman.  Not 
that  there's  anything  wrong  about  it,  of  course;  only 
he's  so  'nation  proud  and  particular." 

"  \Yhat  in  the  name  of  common  sense  do  you  mean, 
Jacob  ?  "  inquired  the  young  man,  scarlet  with  indigna- 
tion. 

^^  Only  that  this  is  Polly  Perling,  Mrs.  Hartopp's  niece, 
sir  :  and  this  is  your  young  master,  Mr.  Frederick  Galton, 
Polly." 

Frederick  had  up  to  that  moment  clean  forgotten  that 
the  housekeeper  was  expecting  her  niece ;  and  if  he  had 
remembered  it,  would  scarcely  have  identified  her  with 
his  charming  companion ;  and  so  they  had  both  come 
home  together,  quite  unknowingly,  in  the  carrier's  cart. 


AN     E  D  I  T  O  E     OUT     O  F    T  O  W  N  .  75 

f 

CHAPTER    VI. 

AX    EDITOR   OUT   OF   TOWN. 

rr^li^^T  man  must  be  an  egotist  indeed  wlio  has  never 
\_  cnosen  unto  himself  a  hqro  ;  who  has  never  looked 
up  to  one  living  fellow -creature,  and  done  him  homage 
in  his  own  heart,  as  from  a  vassal  and  inferior.  In  child- 
hood, we  have  only  love  or  fear  for  those  about  us ;  but 
as  soon  as  we  are  big  enough  to  go  to  school,  we  nourish 
admiration. 

The  Cock  of  the  School  is  commonly  our  first  idol ; 
but  he  is  so  far  removed  from  us — on  so  tremendous  a 
pedestal — tnat  we  set  up  a  god  in  the  same  temple,  to 
satisfy  our  reverential  needs ;  such  as  Golden muth,  the 
best  classic ;  or  Juan  Major,  Avho  kissed  the  master's 
niece;  or  Gravemug,  who  got  the  divinity  prize;  or 
Chincks,  vdiose  father  allowed  him  half-a-crown  a  week 
of  extra  pocket-money — according  to  the  bent  of  our  own 
disposition. 

In  adolescence,  we  no  longer  require  the  real  presence 
of  these  objects  of  veneration.  Our  then  Pantheon, 
which  has  been  entirely  restocked,  and  in  which  all  the 
old  statues  have  fallen  to  pieces  of  themselves,  is  com- 
posed for  the  most  part  of  the  heads,  or  of  those  we  be- 
lieve to  be  the  heads  of  the  calling  to  which  we  ourselves 
aspire :  the  Rev.  Bohun  Erges,  Sllmey  Suttle,  Q.C.,  or 
Admiral  Buster.  In  manhood,  and  brought  face  to  face 
with  these  chieftains,  we  perceive  their  metal  to  be  so 
plentifully  streaked  with  alloy,  that  the  whole  collection 
is  afterwards  carted  away,  and  shot  as  rubbish ;  or  we 
use  the  materials  to  form  a  few  steps  and  a  pediment, 
which  we  ascend  ourselves,  and  remain  there  for  the  rest 
of  our  lives,  in  a  classical  attitude. 

During  the  five  or  six  months  that  succeeded  the 
hav/kino;  at  Chaldcote  Bottom,  the  man  who  filled  the 


7(5  MARRIED     BEX  EAT  H     HIM. 

largest  space  in  the  thoughts  and  aspirations  of  Frederick 
Galton  was  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson,  barrister  of  the  Mid- 
die  Temple,  and  conductor  of  that  tremendous  periodical, 
the  Paternoster  Porcupine. 

The  young  fellow  looked  forward  to  Christmas  as  to  a 
blessed  season  that  should  brintr  a  liviiio;  editor  before 
his  eyes  for  the  first  time.  He  pictured  to  himself  an  in- 
tellectual-looking being,  all  forehead  and  hair,  whose 
conversation  would  be  epigrammatic.  The  reality  was 
disappointing.  INIr.  Jonathan  Johnson  had  but  little 
forehead,  though  his  head  was  as  bare  as  a  bell-handle. 
His  conversation  may  have  been  epigrammatic  in  inten- 
tion, but  that  was  all  tliat  could  be  said  for  it;  it  cer- 
tainly was  not  antithetical,  for  he  did  but  very  rarely 
finish  a  sentence.  Tiie  })oor  man  liad  such  a  habit  of 
stammerino;  that  he  could  scarcelv^  enunciate  a  sing^le 
remark  to  the  end,  but  repeated  the  first  half  of  it  a  great 
many  times  over,  by  way  of  compensation.  He  arrived 
early  one  Sunday  morning,  quite  unex])ectedly,  in  a  gig 
from  the  railway  station,  a  vehicle  having  been  despatched 
for  him  by  the  curate,  according  to  mutual  arrangement 
upon  the  preceding  day,  in  vain. 

He  had  nun — nun — not  been  able  to  leave  tut — tut 
town;  he  had  not  been  able  to  leave  tut — tut — town  in 
time  to  tut — tut — take;  he  had  not  been  able  to  leave 
town  in  time  to  take  advantage  of  that  arrangement. 
He  could  now  only  stay  till  Monday.  He  got  on  with 
his  conversation  exactly  like  a  carpenter  with  his  plane, 
perpetually  going  back  again  over  the  same  plank  until 
it  was  all  smooth  and  free  from  nodosities.  He  said  that 
was  the  only  way  to  kuk — kuk — cure  a  fufP — fuff — fell, 
the  only  way  to  cure  a  fellow  of  stammering.  But  the 
method  was  certainly  tedious,  and  had  not  cured  Mr. 
Jonathan  Johnson.  If  you  suggested  a  word  to  him 
when  he  was  in  difficulties,  he  would — unlike  any  other 
person  who  sulfers  from  the  like  misfortune — reject  it 
scornfully,  although  it  was  the  very  thing  he  wanted. 
He   would  hold  vou,  with   the  tenacitv  of  the  Ancient 


AX      EDITOR      O  U  T     C)  F     T  O  \V  X .  77 

^rariner,  in  direst  expectancy,  while  his  colloquial  plane 
was  working,  and  you  must  listen  (unless  you  knocked 
him  down)  until  he  had  finished  to  his  liking,  or  was 
brought  up  short  by  some  insurmountable  difficulty — 
a  6  or  a  d^-in  which  case  he  would  suddenly  exclaim  : 
"  It's  of  no  kuk — kuk — consequence,''  and  wink  with. 
cheerfulness,  as  though  he  had  made  a  most  satisfactory 
peroration. 

He  had  been  so  long  in  stating  whether  he  would  come 
to  ch — ch — church  or  not,  that  the  curate  had  walked  off 
without  him,  leaying  Frederick  to  conduct  him  thither, 
if  it  should  please  the  great  man  to  condescend  so  far, 
which  it  presently  did.  It  was  the  winter-custom  of 
Frederick  and  his  father  to  sit  in  the  rectory  pew  in 
preference  to  their  own,  because  it  had  a  fireplace  in  it, 
as  the  squire's  pew  also  had,  in  that  old-fashioned  feudal 
church  at  Casterton.  The  curate  was  unable  to  make 
any  alteration  without  leaye  of  the  absent  rector,  and  was 
obliged  to  preach,  like  a  prison  chaplain,  to  a  congrega- 
tion who  could  not  see  one  another,  to  a  flock  each  family 
of  which  was  folded  in  a  separate  pew.  There  were 
galleries  indeed,  and  some  few  free  seats  in  the  aisle, 
with  no  backs  to  them,  for  the  very  poor ;  but  the  major- 
ity of  the  audience  were  enabled  to  enjoy  themselyes  to 
the  full  after  the  fashion  of  that  ingenuous  farmer  who 
confessed  to  his  bishop  that,  for  his  part,  he  always 
passed  sermon-time  very  comfortably — "  I  lays  up  my 
legs,  my  lord,  and  shuts  my  eyes,  and  just  thinks  of 
nothing  like."  The  interior  of  the  edifice  was  clean,  be- 
cause it  was  white-wa?hed  tliroughout ;  but  it  could 
scarcely  be  termed  imposing.  The  Ten  Commandments, 
which  depended  from  a  great  beam  which  crossed  the 
centre,  were  obscured  by  twice  that  number  of  fire-buckets, 
for  w^hich  the  churchwardens  could  find  no  fitter  place. 
The  upper  gallery  was  so  close  to  the  roof  that  it  was,  for 
seclusion  and  independence,  almost  as  good  as  a  pew. 
Unless  one  snored  very  loudly,  the  preacher  could  never 
tell  one  was  asleep  there,  and  so  entertain  a  grudge  that 


78  ifAEEIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

might  influence  the  distribution  of  the  compliments  ur  the 
season,  in  the  shape  of  coals  and  blankets — for  even 
divines  are  men,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  many  of 
them  would  now-a-days  be  found  to  heal  a  Eutychus, 
even  if  they  had  the  gift.  To  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson, 
however,  whose  mind  was  not  deeply  imbued  with  the 
proprieties  of  ecclesiastical  architecture,  the  arrangements 
of  Castertou  church  v»-ere  satisfactory  in  a  very  high  de- 
gree. The  sight  of  the  fii*e  in  his  pew  delighted  him 
hugely;  he  flattered  it,  cautiously  and  tenderly,  with  the 
poker  throughout  the  service,  and  even  sm*reptitiously 
heaped  coals  upon  it  during  the  Litany,  to  the  great 
scandal  of  the  curate,  who  could  not  but  behold  the 
transaction  by  reason  of  his  elevated  position. 

'^  This  pew  of  yours  is  a  pa— ^3a — pattern,  sir,"  ob- 
served he,  behind  his  hymn  book,  to  Frederick.  '^  It  is 
the  greatest  mistake  to  connect  discomfort  with  devotion, 
as  the  High  Churcli  people  do.  I  hate  those  low-backed 
seats,  where  everybody  looks  at  the  pup — pup — parting 
of  one's  hair  behind." 

Fre<:lerick  thought  within  himself  that  it  must  have 
been  some  time  since  such  a  liberty  could  ])ossibly  have 
been  taken  with  the  back  of  Mr.  Johnson's  head ;  but  he 
only  bowed  gravely,  blushing,  too,  not  a  little,  because 
he  felt  that  his  uncle's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  and  his 
companion  like  a  couple  of  burning-glasses. 

After  morning  church,  Mr.  Johnson  paid  so  much  de- 
votion to  cold  beef  and  pickles,  and,  in  particular,  to 
some  venerable  cherry-brandy — wiiich  he  endeavored  to 
explain  was  taken  only  as  a'stut — stut — stut,  but  finally 
observed  that  it  was  of  no  consequence — ^that  he  yn^  - 
nounced  himself  unfit  to  attend  afternoon  service.  Fred 
therefore  accompanied  the  profane  one  in  a  walk  up 
Leckhamsiey  Round.  Winter  had  drawn  his  winding- 
sheet  over  the  whole  landscape,  and  Xature  lay  stark  and 
gaunt  beneath  the  glittering  robe.  The  far-on  river  in 
the  vale,  which,  save  in  the  snow-time,  glistened  so 
brightly  in  the   sunbeams,  new  alone  looked  blue  and 


AX     EDITOR     OUT     OF     T  O  W  -N  .  < » 

dull.  The  chalk-roads  were  oue  with  the  white  Down. 
A  few  stunted  thorns  in  the  near  foreground  were  trans- 
formed bv  the  lavish  genius  of  the  season  into  trees  of 
frosted  silver.  The  pigeon-house  that  towered  above 
the  rick-vard  of  farmer  Groves,  as  fitly  as  banner  over 
citadel,  was  silver,  too,  and  of  a  pattern  more  exquisite 
and  chaste  than  ever  was  designed  by  artist-jeweller. 
The  outlving  cottages — disgraceful  to  the  land  in  their 
scant  accommodation  (although  no  worse  at  Casterton 
than  elsewhere  in  the  Down  country)— ill-floored,  ill- 
roofed,  ill-kept— shone  forth  like  fairy  bowers ;  the  very 
pigsties  dazzled  the  eves  that  looked  upon  them;  for 
Snow,  like  Purity  herself,  makes  everything  she  touches, 
however  homely,  beautiful. 

"  How  very  glorious ! "  exclaimed  Frederick,  wrapt  in 
admiration  of  the  scene,  and  forgetting  in  it  for  a  moment 
even  the  presence  of  the  conductor  of  the  Paiernoster 

Poreup'ine.  •  i      i  i 

My.  Jonathan  Johnson  observed,  with  considerable 
difficultv,  that  it  was  very  cold. 

"  But  what  a  scene  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man  apolo- 
getieallv.  ' 

"It  looks  like  Death,  sir,"  returned  the  other  with  a 
shudder,  "  and  as  though  there  were  no  more  twenty  port, 
nor  anvbodv  to  drink  it.  Let  us  go  home  ;  and  by-the- 
by,  why  did  that  uncle  of  yours  ask  me  down  to  Casterton, 
my  young  friend?  He  don't  care  tuppence  for  me,  and 
he  don't  revere  the  Porcupine'' 

"I  am  thinking,  sir,  of  adding  a  humble  unit  to  the 
literary  profession  in  mv  own  person,  and  he  hoped  that 
you  might  be  induced  to  exert  your  powerful  influence  in 
my  favor." 

*"  Bless  mv  soul,  what  a  plain-spoken  young  gentleman 
vou  are !  It's  quite  refreshing,"  stammered  the  gentle- 
man from  town.  "  So  I  am  asked  down  here  to  be  your 
usher  into  the  world  of  letters,  am  I  ?  Well,  with  all  my 
heart,  mv  lad,  I'm  sure,  for  I  think  I  like  you.  \\  e 
will  talk  the  matter  over  after  dinner  to-night.     But  call 


80  M  A  E  E  I  E  D     BENEATH      HIM, 

me  horse  if  I  don't  make  Morrit  pay  for.  it.  It  shall 
cost  him  a  secoud  bottle  to-night,  I  promise  him,  though 
it  should  give  me  gout  in  the  stut — stut — stut — It's 
of  no  consequence." 


CHAPTER    YII. 

ACROSS   THE   WALNUTS   AND   THE   WINE. 

THE  curate  dined  at  five  o'clock,  as  his  custom  was 
upoii  the  Sunday ;  but  it  was  near  eleven  before 
his  guest  and  nephew  could  be  induced  to  leave  the  table. 
He  delivered  the  conversation  almost  entirely  into  their 
hands,  partly  because  he  judged  it  better  that  the  youth 
should  make  his  own  way  with  the  man  of  letters,  and 
parti V  because  there  were  few  subjects  on  which  the  editor 
and  himself  could  converse  without  risk  of  a  quarrel. 
With  respect  to  religious  matters,  indeed,  Mr.  Jonathan 
Johnson  was  quite  prepared  to  endorse  the  curate's  views, 
just  as  he  would  have  deferred  to  a  soldier's  opinion 
regarding  military  affairs,  or  a  builder's  concerning  bricks 
and  mortar ;  but  as  to  politics,  the  gentleman  from  Lon- 
don opined  that  the  ideas  of  a  parson  vegetating  at  Cas- 
terton  were  quite  unworthy  of  the  least  consideration. 
Like  all  college  Fellows  who  have  been  metropolitanized, 
he  despised  such  as  remained  at  the  university,  or  shut 
themselves  out  of  the  world,  just  as  the  emigrated  Scotch- 
man contemns  the  Caledonian  pure  and  simple.  He 
himself  professed  the  shifting  faith  of  a  Liberal  Con- 
servative, and  held  a  Tory  to  be  a  sort  of  political 
mastodon. 

^'There's  only  one  Tory  left  in  London,  sir,  and  that 
is  my  sub-editor,  Percival  Potts,"  said  Mr.  Johnson, 
after  a  controversy  warmer  than  usual;  ^'you  shall  be 


THE     WALNUTS     A  X  D     T  II  E      ^\' I  X  E .  81 

introduced  to  him  the  very  next  time  you  come  to 
town.'' 

The  Eev.  Eobert  Morrit  muttered  something  in  reply 
respecting  editors  both  in-chief  and  subordinate,  which, 
let  us  hope,  was  only  a  quotation  from  the  commination 
service;  and  nothing  more  was  said  upon  the  matter. 
There  followed,  indeed,  rather  an  awkward  pause,  until 
Mr.  Johnson  broke  it  by  requesting  to  know  how  a  young 
fellow  like  Frederick,  who  had  no  sermons  to  plagiarize, 
and  no  sick  people  to  frighten,  managed  to  pass  the 
wintry  time  at  Casterton. 

"  l"^  go  out  bat-folding,"  retui'ned  the  young  man, 
laughing. 

"  Explain  yourself.  Bat-folding  !  '^  echoed  the  man  of 
letters,  with  genuine  wonder.  ^'  Come,  I  am  going  to 
learn  something.' 

It  is  equally  impossible  to  set  forth  in  words  the  self- 
complacent  expression  of  Mr.  Johnson  as  he  uttered  that 
remark,  or  the  contempt  that  overspread  his  entertainer's 
features  as  he  listened  to  it.  The  editor  and  the  curate 
each  imagined  one  another  to  be  the  most  ignorant  (con- 
sistently with  presumption)  of  the  human  species ;  they 
had  each  also  an  unduly  elevated  opinion  of  their  own 
intelligence. 

"We  go  out,"  pursued  Frederick,  "on  nights  when 
there  is  no  moon,  with  a  folding-net,  about  six  feet  high, 
and  with  long  handles,  which  require  a  powerful  man  to 
work  them  properly.  Another  carries  a  lantern;  the 
rest  have  very  long  sticks  to  beat  the  covers  with.  Our 
game,  which  *is  mauily  sparrows,  is  found  in  ivied  walls, 
under  house-tiles,  and  beneath  the  eaves  of  ricks.  The 
netter  spreads  his  snare  over  such  places  as  these,  and  the 
lantern  is  held  behind  it ;  then  we  thrash  the  ivy  or  poke 
the  eaves  with  our  sticks,  and  out  fiy  ih^  half  awakened 
victims,  making  straight  for  the  light,  and  on  their  way 
get  entangled  in  the  meshes.  When  a  sufficient  number 
are  thas  obtained,  the  net  is  folded  and  thrown  on  the 
ground,  and  the  game  is  secured.  Sometimes  we  make 
5 


82  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

prey  of  a  larger  bird  than  ^ye  intended.  We  were  '  fold- 
ing' in  the  ivy  underneath  farmer  Groves's  windows  last 
night ;  he  put  his  head  out  suddenly  to  know  what  was 
the  matter,  and  we,  who  thought  it  was  an  owl,  clapped 
the  net  together  rather  sharply.  I  have  his  night-cap 
now.'' 

Fred  produced  the  article  in  question — a  white  bag, 
large  enough  for  a  beehive,  and  with  an  elegant  appendage 
of  red  cotton.  ^' In  native  ivy,  tassel  hung,"  said  he, 
"  we  found  it." 

"  The  lad  is  always  quoting,  or  misquoting,  from  your 
modern  poets,  Johnson.  The  poor  boy  thinks  he  is  a 
genius  like  yourself,  and  wants  you  to  give  him  a  lift 
upon  the  long  road  of  literature.  I  shall  esteem  it  a 
personal  kindness  if  you  can  do  so." 

The  curate  exceedingly  disliked  this  asking  of  favors. 
It  was  a  foolish  boast" of  his,  that  he  had  never  been 
indebted  for  anything  to  any  man— that  no  one  had  ever 
put  so  much  as  a  finger  to  help  him  with  his  earthly 
burden.  It  especially  galled  him  to  have  to  appeal  to 
such  a  man  as  Johnson,  that  his  nephew  might  be  ap- 
prenticed to  sucli  a  trade  as  Literature. 

"  Your  nephew  is  very  young,"  observed  the  editor 
doubtfully,  inflating  his  lungs,  as  the  manner  of  some 
prosperous  persons  is  when  they  are  about  to  be  patron- 
izing;  "he  must  fuff—fuif— first  fill  his  pub— pub- 
pub— " 

"  His  pocket,"  suggested  the  curate,  with  impatience. 
"  Nav,  that's  the  very  thing  he  wants  .literature  to  do  for 
him,  man." 

"He  must  first  fill  his  pub— pub— basket,  sir  1"  ex- 
claimed the  editor,  with  a  tremendous  effort."  " He  must 
know  something  to  begin  vrith.  He  cannot  set  to  work 
at  once,  spinning  out  of  his  own  stut — stut — stut — (it's 
of  no  consequence),  like  a  blessed  spider." 

"He  is  going  to  tlie  university  very  soon,"  interposed 
the  curate,  who  perceived  that  propitiation  was  become 
absolutely  necessary.      "Alma  ]Mater  may  not  teach  a 


THE      ^^'  A  L  y  UTS      A  X  D     THE     W  I  X  E .  83 

great  deal,  but  she  will  give  him,  at  all  event?,  the  rudi- 
ments of  education.  You  must  allow  that  much,  my 
dear  fellow ;  even  you  are  indebted  to  her  for  the  rudi- 
ments. Your  classical  acquirements  are  more  evident  in 
your  works  than  you  may  yourself  imagine." 

]\Ir.  Jonathan  Johnson  was  a  man  of  considerable 
acuteness,  but  he  had  the  weakness  of  his  order — praise, 
nay,  flattery,  was  sweeter  to  him  than  honey  and  the 
honeycomb.  He  actually  persuaded  himself — for  the 
time,  at  least — like  one  who  delivers  himself  up  to  hashis 
— that  the  Rev.  Robert  Morrit  had  studied  his  work.-, 
and  was  delivering  his  deliberate  opinion  on  them. 

"Perhaps  so,''  replied  he,  much  mollified — "perhaps 
you  are  right,  Morrit.  I  don't  know  any  man's  judg- 
ment, when  disinterested  and  unbiassed,  that  I  respect 
more  than  I  do  yours.  I  should  like  much  to  know, 
now,  which  of  my  books  has  most  met  with  your  appro- 
bation. '  Wife  and  Widow '  is  my  own  favorite,  but 
many  of  my  friends  seem  to  prefer  my  '  Love  in  a  Light- 
house.' The  leading  journal  spoke  very  favorably  the 
other  day  of  the  latter  volume." 

It  was  lucky  that  Mr.  Johnson  happened  to  mention 
these  efforts  of  genius  by  their  titles,  or  the  curate  would 
have  been  nonplussed  indeed,  for  he  had  never  heard  so 
much  as  the  names  of  them  before.  As  it  was,  however, 
he  responded  with  much  gravity,  and  carefully  averting 
his  eye  from  his  nephew,  (who  was  well  aware  of  the 
enormity  of  the  tarry -diddle  which  the  reverend  gentle- 
man was  telling),  that  he  thought  that  "  I>ove  in  a  Light- 
house" was — not  to  draw  invidious  comparisons  between 
masterpieces — the  more  admirable  of  the  two ;  he  believed 
also,  that  that  was  his  nephew's  opinion,  who  was 
acquainted  with  all  that  had  been  written  within  the  last 
ten  years,  and  who,  for  so  young  a  man,  had  a  good  deal 
of  taste. 

This  was  an  ingenious  device  of  the  curate's;  first,  for 
reverting  to  the  subject  next  to  Frederick's  heart,  namely 
the  launch  of  his  little  skiff  on  the  waters  of  Literature, 


84  M  A  E  E  I  E  D      13  E  X  E  A  T  II      HIM. 

which  seemed  in  clanger  of  being  swamped  by  the  re  70- 
lution  of  Mr.  Johnson's  own  tremendous  paddles;  and, 
secondly,  to  shift  from^his  own  shoulders  the  burden  of  a 
conversation  which  was  by  no  means  without  its  diffi- 
culties. 

''  Mv  opinion  is,  of  course,  worth  nothing,"  observed 
the  ready  youth  ;  "but  that  scene  in  the  lighthouse,  in 
which  drunken  Hans  prevents  the  lantern  irom  revolv- 
ing, and  thereby  wrecks  the  Arethusa  steamship,  wnth 
his  own  sweetheart  on  board,  is  one  of  the  grandest  inci- 
dents of  dramatic  retribution  with  which  I  am  acquainted. 
In  my  own  humble  efforts  of  the  same  kind,  I  have  often 
endeavored  to  keep  that  picture  before  me,  and  I  dare 
say  am  indebted  to  it  for  much  which  I  persuade  myself 
is  my  own." 

"Indeed  !"  exclaimed  the  conductor  of  the  Porcupine, 
rubbing  his  hands;  "this  is  indeed  gratifying.  To  earn 
the  applause  of  the  ocneration  rising  around  him,  is  one 
of  the  writer's  highest  aims.  And  so  you  liked  the 
*  Lighthouse,'  did  you,  my  young  friend  ?  " 

"Let  us  see  some  of  these  humble  efforts  of  yours, 
Fred,"  interrupted  his  uncle,  who  began  to  fear  that  the 
conversation  would  never  escape  from  that  literary  Eddy- 
stone  ;  "  let  us  hear  a  chapter  out  of  the  Carthaginian 
novel  of  real  life." 

"Ah,  yes,  let  us  hear  that,"  observed  Mr.  Johnson, 
with  a  slight  yawn,  and  *a  very  manifest  diminution  of 
interest. 

"  Or  the  translation  from  Horace,"  added  the  curate, 
"  which  will  possess  the  recommendation  of  greater 
brevity." 

"  Xo,  I  won't  listen  tu  any  translation,"  observed  the 
editor,  decisively.  "  It  would  bore  me  exce&sively  to 
hear  Horace  read  aloud  in  the  original — how  much  more, 
then,  to  listen  to  him  when  rendered  into  English  !  " 

The  curate  muttered  something,  not  so  much  in  defence 
of  Horace,  as  in  deprecation  of  somebody's  acquaintance 
with  th^  Latin  tonsjue.     "You  were  alwavs  a  staunch 


THE     AV  A  L  X  U  T  S     AND     THE     WINE.  85 

mathematician,  Johnson/'  was,  however,  all  that  could 
be  distinctly  heard. 

"  I  have  got  a  Fragment  here,"  observed  Frederick, 
diffidently ;  '^  a  few  lines  which  express  a  frequent  fancy 
of  mine — morbid  enough,  perhaps,  and  untrue,  but — " 

"  Xever  cry  stinking  iish,  young  man/'  interrupted  the 
editor;  "you  will  find  plenty  of  people  to  hold  their 
noses  at  what  you  have  to  offer,  without  any  warning 
from  you/' 

There  is  no  position  in  which  civilized  man  can  possi- 
bly feel  less  complacent  than  wdien  he  undertakes  to  read 
his  own  effusions  aloud  before  a  literary  censor.  In  giv- 
ing readings  in  public,  he  is  comparatively  at  ease,  since 
by  their  very  presence  the  audience  tacitly  confess  their 
inferiority,  and  he  knows  that  he  would  not  return  the 
compliment  bv  listening  to  one  of  them  on  any  account 
whatever.  Biit  when  a  critical  individual  has  the  right 
of  saying:  "I  don't  quite  follow  you  there;"  or,  "I 
doubt  whether  tJiat  scene  be  not  somewhat  coarse ; "  or 
(Heavens  and  Earth!)  "Excuse  me,  but  do  you  not 
think  that  that  last  chapter  was  just  a  little  tedious?"  I 
say  that,  under  such  circumstances,  there  is  no  man  more 
to  be  pitied  than  the  sucking  author.  Only  imagine  if 
the  critical  person  should  be  drowsy,  and  the  unhappy 
reader  be  compelled  to  resort  to  unworthy  devices  to 
recall  him  to  a  sense  of  his  situation — such  as  dropping 
the  manuscript  with  a  great  deal  of  noise  and  fluttering ; 
inquiring  with  anxiety  as  to  Avhether  the  wretch  found 
himself  quite  comfortable;  or  even  remarking  with 
meaning :  "  Be  so  good,  Mr.  Critic,  as  to  give  me  your 
best  attention  during  the  ensuing  episode."  Can  any 
position  be  more  humiliating?  Can  self-respect  be  de- 
stroyed by  any  more  appalling  method?  I  answer:  Xo; 
not  at  least  within  the  limits  of  probability.  Although, 
perhaps,  a  parallel  situation  may  be  found  in  some  wild 
effort  of  the  imagination,  such  as  the  being  appointed 
auctioneer  while  our  infants  are  being  disposed  of  by 
public  roup,  when  the  depreciatory  remarks  of  very  small 


86  MAREIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

bidders  might  perhaps  produce  an  equal  pain.  A  trage- 
dian in  want  of  an  engagement,  giving  a  private  specimen 
of  his  talents  before  a  manager— apostrophising  the  ele- 
liients,  as  Lear,  before  an  audience  of  one,  and  that  one 
];erhaps  a  Jew-bankrupt— must  find  it  trying  work.  But 
tlieu  he  is  not  uttering  his  own  sentiments,  tiie  self-choseu 
language  of  his  own  heart,  each  carefully-coined  and 
well-weighed  word  of  which  is  dear  to  him. 

One's  proposal  of  marriage  to  some  beautiful  and 
accomplished  young  female  is  perhaps  as  embarrassing ; 
but  then  it  is'  soon  over.  You  have  not  to  plead  for  a 
couple  of  hours  or  so,  while  your  love  makes  no  sign, 
either  one  way  or  the  other,  but  engages  herself  indiffer- 
ently, with  a  toothpick,  as  your  critic  will  do.  In  par- 
ticular, it  is  impossible  to  read  one's  poetry  to  any  ad- 
vantage under  such  circumstances.  "  The  chariot- wheels 
jar  in  the  gate  through  which  we  drive  them  forth." 

Mr.  Frederick  Galton,  a  young  gentleman  in  general 
of  much  self-confidence,  stammered  almost  as  perti- 
naciously as  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  in  the  endeavor  to 
enunciate  his  Fragment. 

When  the  doors  have  closed  behind  us,  and  the  voices  died  away, 
Do  the  singers  cease  their  singing — do  tlie  children  end  their  play  ? 
Do  the  words  of  wisdom  well  no  more  through  the  calm  lips  of  age  ? 
Are  the  fountains  dry  whence  the  young  draw  hopes  too  bright  for  the 

faith  of  the  sage  ? 
And,  like  to  the  flower  that  closeth  up  when  the  East  begins  to  glow, 
Doth  the  maiden's  beauty  fade  from  oft  her  tender  cheek  and  brow  ? 
Are  they  all  but  subtle  spirits,  changing  into  those  and  these, 
To  vex  us  with  a  feigned  sorrow,  or  to  mock  us  while  they  please  ? 
All  the  world  a  scene  phantasmal,  shifting  aye  to  something  strange, 
Such  as,  if  but  disenchanted,  one  might  mark  in  act  to  change ; 
See  the  disembodied  beings,  whom  we  held  of  our  own  kind, 
Friend,  and  foe,  and  kin,  and  lover,  each  a  help  to  make  us  blind ; 
Set  to  watch  our  lonely  hours,  ambushing  about  our  path. 
That  our  eyes  shall  ne'er  be  opened,  till  their  lids  be  closed  in  death  : 
And  when  so  closed,  will  all  things  be  as  though  we  had  ne'er  been 

born, 
And  e'en  without  those  tears  that  are  dried  swift  as  the  dews  by  the 

morn  ? 
That  make  us  feel  this  fancy  more,  so  strange  doth  it  appear 
How  the  memorv  of  a  dead  man  dies  with  those  he  held  most  dear ; 


THE      WALNUTS     AND     THE     WINE.         87 

As  though  there  wa.-  an  end,  with  life,  of  the  mockery  tliat  beguiles 
Our  every  act,  tricks  out  our  woes,  and  cheats  us  of  our  smiles, 
And  makes  (but  feigns)  to  love  and  scorn,  and  parts  and  reconciles. 

There  was  a  painful  pause,  when  this  unsatisfactory 
performance  was  concluded. 

'•  "Well,  Fred,''  observed  his  uncle  at  length,  "  I  am 
verv  sorrv,  but  I  must  confess  that  I  do  not  in  the  least 
understand  what  your  muse  has  been  driving  at.  AVhat 
do  you  say,  Johnson  ?  '^ 

"  I  think  I  see  what  the  young  man  means,"  remarked 
the  censor;  "but  it  is  at  best,  as  he  has  himself  observed, 
a  morbid  fancy,  born  of  the  egotism  that  is  inherent  in 
the  literary  character." 

'^  How  did  vou  manage  to  eradicate  that  weakness  in 
your  own  case  ? ''  inquired  the  curate,  gravely. 

"  It  was  a  kuk — kuk — case  of  der — der — it  was  a  case 
of  discipline  of  the  mind,  sir.  I  was  determined  to  over- 
come it,  and  I  did.  Xow,  don't  be  discouraged,  young 
gentleman  ;  I  myself  have  written  several  very  indiffer- 
ent poems.  I  thought  myself  at  one  time  a  great  poetical 
genius.  Perhaps  I  could  really  do  as  well  as  some  to 
whom  the  laurel  has  been  universally  awarded.  I  wrote 
a  series  of  ballads  once  in  the  Westminster  Yolunteer, 
'  an  amateur  magazine  of  some  merit,  years  ago.  They 
are  very  good  ballads,  sir,  but  they  were  not  appreciated." 

"  Thev  were  upon  English  history,  were  they  not  ? '' 
inquired  Frederick,  languidly.  He  could  no  longer 
feign  to  be  interested  in  this  man's  confounded  writings. 
He  felt  as  if  his  intellect  had  received  its  death-blow. 
Mrs.  Hartopp's  commendation  of  his  literary  efforts  had 
indeed  always  elevated  him,  but  not  without  self-con- 
sciousness that  that  beer  was  small  to  get  intoxicated 
upon ;  and  the  late  reception  of  his  Fragment  convinced 
him  of  the  worthlessness  both  of  her  approbation  and  of 
that  which  she  approved. 

"They  irere  upon  English  history,  sir,''  returned  the 
editor,  graciously.  "  I  am  glad  you  remember  them. 
Did  you  yourself  ever  select  a  subject  from  the  same 


88  MAERIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

source  ?  It  is  better  for  a  young  man  to  do  so ;  it  affords 
a  trellis-work  upon  which  to  train  his  luxuriant  thoughts, 
which  have  rarely"  strength  to  stand  of  themselves. 
Your  fancy,  in  particular,  which  is  too  subjective,  sir, 
although  full  of  promise,  had  better  be  confined  for  the 
present  to  some  sucli  field. ^^ 

The  color  came  back  to  the  young  man's  cheek  as  he 
lieard  these  words,  and  the  embers  of  hope  were  fanned 
within  him.  "I  have  a  short  ballad  here,"  murmured 
he,  "upon  ^The  Death  of  Cromwell.^" 

"  I  hope  that  it's  written  to  the  tune  of  the  Rogue\s 
March, '^  observed  the  curate. 

"  I  trust,^'  said  the  editor,  "  it  contains  no  disrespect 
towards  the  greatest  pur — pur — pur — " 

"The  greatest  puritanical  scoundrel  that  ever  spoke 
through  his  nose,"  suggested  tlie  curate. 

"The  greatest  pur — pur — prince  that  ever  ruled  in 
England,"  quoted  Mr.  Johnson. 

"You  shall  judge  for^ yourselves,"  quoth  Frederick, 
gayly,  "  and  I  hope  it  may  please  both  your  worships." 

THE    DEATH    OF    CROMWELL. 

Tlie  wind  was  up  and  wild  that  night 

On  flood,  and  field,  and  fell ; 
Untouched  by  man,  from  each  church-tower 

There  pealed  a  passing  bell ; 
At  midnight,  all  the  land  rang  out 

The  great  Protector's  knell. 

The  waves  a  polemn ^anthem  roiled; 

The  forests  bent  and  brake  ; 
The  moon  was  hid  ;  the  .stars  were  quenched ; 

The  wasted  earth  did  quake ; 
'Twas  meet  God's  every  work  should  show 

When  God  that  soul  did  take. 

And  all  men  stood,  like  sentinels 

Who  hear  about  their  posts 
The  ring  of  spear,  the  beat  of  hoof, 

The  clang  of  charging  hosts ; 
But  wist  not  if  'tis  friend  or  foe^ 

Xor  who  liath  won  or  lost. 


THE     WALNUTS     AND     THE     WINE.        89 


And  far  beyond  the  tossing  seas, 

That  tempest  tore  the  vine, 
And  whirled  their  snows  from  Alps  to  Alps, 

And  levelled  low  the  pine ; 
For  all  that  dwelt  in  Christendom, 

'Twas  meet  should  see  the  sign. 

But  round  his  rocking  palace-gates. 

The  great  Protector's  guard, 
The  men  that  had  no  chief  but  one, 

Still  kept  their  watch  and  ward. 
And  prayed  so  loud  and  earnestly, 

The  tempest  scarce  was  heard ; 

For  well  they  knew  him  near  to  death, 

Their  tried  and  trasty  friend, 
Their  leader  in  a  hundred  fields, 

And  matchless  to  the  end ; 
God  had  not,  to  their  iron  arms. 

Another  such  to  send. 

Whose  name  was  dj-eadful  on  the  Earth, 

And  dreadful  on  the  Main, 
'Neath  whose  broad  shield  God's  people  couched, 

Nor  put  their  trust  in  vain 
In  him  who  taught  Eome  charity. 

And  bent  the  knee  of  Spain. 

As,  through  that  night,  from  hour  to  hour, 

The  preachers,  grave  and  sad, 
Came  forth  from  where  great  Cromwell  lay, 

With  what  dark  news  they  had, 
Did  each  stern  veteran  weep  to  hear. 

As  weeps  some  orphan  lad. 

"i^is  night  is  our  great  general's  last, 

A  death-time  fit  and  rare 
For  him  who  gave  to  God  the  praise. 

And  whom  God  gave  the  war. 
This  is  the  night  of  Worcester  field, 

Brave  comrades,  and  Dunbar; 

"And  lo !  his  thoughts  are  with  you  now, 

The  chosen  of  the  Lord. 
His  brows  are  knit,  his  hands  are  clenched, 

He  dreams  he  grasps  the  sword. 
^Let  us  go  down  to  GiJgal,  men,' 

Was  his  last  spoken  word. 

"This  morn  he  saw  the  sun  break  forth 
As  on  that  Dunbar  day, 


90  MAERIED     BEInEATH     HIM. 

And  strove  to  prop  him  on  his  arm, 
To  meet  the  broad  bright  rav; 

'And  let  the  Lord  arise,'  had  said. 
But  had  not  strength  to  say; 

"  But  vre  spoke  for  hira  to  the  end ; 

All  noontide  wrestled  v:e, 
But  since  the  tempest  first  was  stirred, 

His  heart  is  back  with  ye, 
And  now  he  cries:  'They  charge,  they  charge!' 

And  now :  '  They  flee,  they  flee  I  * " 

Hark  I  hushed  is  every  breath  of  air  I 

Marked  ye  this  sudden  lull  ? 
How  star  by  star  comes  fortli  in  peace 

To  meet  ilie  moon  at  full  ? 
Great  Cromwell's  soul  is  other-where, 

And  other  realms  doth  rule. 


"  That's  de — de — devilish  good,  young  man  ! "  ob- 
served the  editor,  dogmatically. 

"A  great  deal  too  good  for  the  subject,"  objected  the 
curate.  ^^  Where  the  lad  picks  up  such  abominable 
sentiments  I  am  sure  I  cannot  think.*' 

"  Pooh  I  the  boy's  all  right/*'  quoth  Mr.  Jonathan 
Johnson  :  ^'  it  is  easv  to  see  that  he's  in  the  Carlvle  stas^e 
just  now. 

"  And  where  will  that  carry  him  to?"  inquired  Mr. 
Morrit,  grimly. 

"Xo  very  great  distance,  as  I  believe  myself;  but 
Percival  Potts  affirms,  to  Toryism.  All  distinguished 
persons.  Potts  makes  out  to  be  Tories  at  heart,  and 
whatever  they  say  that  is  good,  he  contends  to  have,  at 
bottom,  a  Tory  signification.  You  would  get  on  with 
Percival  Potts,  sir,  famously." 

^'Umph!"  grunted  the  curate,  as  though  he  would 
say  he  trusted  to  end  his  days  with  philosophy,  even  if 
he  should  never  make  the  acquaintance  of  that  gifted 
gentleman, 

'■  Percival  Potts."  continued  the  editor,  soliloquising, 
"  is  one  of  those  men  v.lio  do  not  really  care  three  skips 
of  a  lul-lul  lamb  for  any  principles  :  but  finding  Tory- 


i  H  E      W  A  L  X  L  1  >     A  X  1>      THE      WINE.         dl 

ism  less  represented  in  literature  than  other  mns,  he 
adopted  it^  and  b.as  worked  it  with  some  success.  The 
possession  of  it  gives  him  a  sort  of  excuse  for  the  display 
of  his  insolence — and  he  is  a  very  insolent  beggar  to  his 
equals,  is  Percival — because  it  entitles  him  to  say  :  *  I  am 
naturally  humble  ;  I  revere  my  superiors  ;  I  am  the  last 
description  of  individual  to  give  myself  airs/  If  there 
is  so  much  as  a  baronet  in  the  room,  however.  Potts  is 
always  on  his  best  behavior ;  and,  when  intoxicated,  he 
is  amusing,  since  in  that  state  he  never  fails  to  favor  the 
company  with  his  own  genealogy,  the  links  of  Avhich  he 
supplies  as  he  goes  on  from  his  perfervid  imao^iuatiou. 
You  must  certainly  meet  Potts,  my  dear  fellow." 

"He  must  be  charming  indeed,"  observed  Mr.  Mor- 
rit,  v/ith  gravity.  "  I  count  the  houi^  until  I  see  him. 
In  the  meantime,  Fred,  have  you  got  any  more  manu- 
scripts ?  " 

"  Has  he  got  any  more  ?"  repeated  the  editor.  "  AVhv, 
bless  my  soul,  Morrit,  he  has  thousands.  These 
things  are  to  the  literary  aspirant  as  shoots  are  to  the 
sapling.  They  are  mental  minutions — blood-lettings  of 
Xature's  own,  without  which  the  patient  would  die  of 
congestion  of  tlie  brain.  They  are  the  favorable  intellec- 
tual eruptions,  which  carry  off  goodness  knows  what 
diseases,  but  madness,  certainly,  for  one.  Xow,  have  you. 
not  a  chest  full  at  home,  young  gentleman — a  laro-e  three- 
storied  chest  full,  such  as  linen  is  generallv  kept  in  ? 
Come  now,  confess.*^ 

"  I  have  a  pretty  large  desk  full  of  them,"  replied  the 
young  man,  modestly. 

"Good.  I  will  come  over  to-morrow  morning,  and 
overhaul  them ;  and  if  there  is  anything  worth  having, 
you  shall  see  it  in  the  Porciqjinc.  And  now,  Morrit,  let 
us  have  a  second  bottle  to  wash  away  this  taste  of  litera- 
ture. The  honey  of  Hybla  cloys  one's  palate  con- 
foundedly, but  of  the  bee's-uing  of  good  port  wine  we 
never  tire." 

The  curate  left  the  room,  to  return  with  a  saw-dust v 


92  M  A  ERIE  r-    i;  r,  ?>  j:  a  :  ii     u  i  \i  . 

bottle  held  slantingly  in  both  his  hands,  like  an  infant, 
and  with  a  tenderness  at  least  equal  to  most  child- 
carriers. 

"  Xow,  Johnson,  take  the  screw,  man,^^  said  he ;  ''  and 
be  very  careful  not  to  jerk  the  cork  out/'' 

Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  acted  as  directed,  while  the 
Eev.  Robert  Morrit  held  the  patient  firmly  between  his 
knees  so  that  the  liquor  was  arrived  at,  with  the  least 
possible  shock  to  the  system. 

The  London  editor  lay  back  in  his  easy  chair,  smack- 
ing his  lips  at  intervals  as  the  port  went  do^vn,  like  min- 
ute-guns at  sea. 

There  was  of  course  no  more  conversation,  except  upon 
the  "  vintages,"  respecting  which  the  two  full-grown 
gentlemen  were  duly  wearisome,  and  asserted  the  usual 
falsehoods.  I  forbear  to  repeat  them,  since  the  ignorance 
and  contemptible  ambition  of  mankind  are  never  perhaps 
so  painfully  apparent  as  when  they  dilate  upon  this 
unhappy  subject. 

"  I  have  not  tasted  such  vro- — wo — wine  as  that,  Mor- 
rit,  since  I  last  dined  at  Minim  Hfall,  near  fourteen  years 
ago,"  said  the  editor,  solemnly,  as  he  lit  his  bed-candle, 
after  consuming  three  spills  in  the  attempt. 

"  I  dare  say  not ;  I  can  easily  believe  it,"  quoth  the 
parson,  with  a  movement  of  his  venerable  head. 

And  yet  that  second  bottle  was  by  no  means  "  twentv  " 
port,  as  the  curate  very* well  knew,  but  of  a  vintage  much 
more  modern,  of  which  a  considerable  quantity  could  be 
still  obtained  of  the  provincial  wine-merchant,  without 
favor,  and  at  a  moderate  price. 


i  II  K      .-  U  A  I)  U  W       i  N        r  U  L      ii  w  U  >  K  .  [>'■', 

CHAPTEE    VIII. 

THE  SHADOW  IX  THE  HOUSE. 

'TTT'ITHOUT  immediate  reference  to  that  unhappy 
\  V  skeleton  in  the  cupboard  who  has  been  so  very 
hardly  worked  by  modern  novelists,  we  may  safely  say, 
that  there  is  commonly  something  ''  going  on  "  under  most 
roofs  which  it  is  the  interest  of  the  party  or  parties  con- 
cerned to  keep  exceedingly  C[uiet.  The  more  respectable 
— that  is  to  say,  the  more  extensive  the  household — the 
more  numerous  of  course  are  these  domestic  secrets.  In 
the  boudoir  or  the  housekeeper's  room,  in  the  heir^s 
chamber  or  the  tutor's  garret,  in  the  master's  study  or 
groom's  apartment  over  the  stables — a  shadow  almost 
certainly  abides  in  one  or  more  of  these,  crouching  down 
and  cowering  away  from  every  on-looker.  Only  one,  or 
two  persons  at  most,  are  aware  perhaps  of  its  existence, 
but  there  it  is.  In  rare  cases,  it  is  never  discovered,  nor 
will  be  till  the  great  day  for  the  discovery  of  all  secrets; 
and  now  and  again,  the  black  and  unsightly  thing  breaks 
forth  before  the  eyes  of  all  men,  and  casts  its  gloom  over 
the  entire  dwelling,  with  all  that  are  in  it.  But,  most 
connuonly,  the  event  lies  between  those  two  extremes: 
the  lantern  of  some  domestic  detective  is  turned  in  an 
unguarded  moment  upon  the  objectionable  intruder,  and 
there  ensues  what  is  facetiously  termed  "a  row  in  the 
pantry  "  (not,  of  course,  that  the  butler  need  be  concerned 
in  it),  a  mitigated  "  coming  to  grief,"  as  it  used  to  be 
termed  at  Dr.  Softsoap's  academy  for  young  gentlemen, 
when  one  of  us  was  privately  withdrawn  instead  of  ex- 
pelled. I  protest  that  I  think  Paterfomilias  may  con- 
sider himself  fortunate  if  the  matter  takes  these  moderate 
dimensions,  and  only  happens  about  half-a-dozen  times 
during   his   head-mastership.      The   volcano  which    lirs 

iansioh  may  perhaps   l?e 


94  MAIJRIED     BENEATH      HIM. 

content  to  expend  itself  through  these  insignificant  out- 
lets; but  if  everything  has  always  gone  smoothly  and 
respectably  with  hiiu  and  his^  let  him  tremble  in  his  too- 
easy  chalr^  for  the  time  of  eruption  must  needs  be  draw- 
ing nigh,  and  the  pyrotechnic  display  will  be  upon  a  scale 
proportionate  with  its  infrequency.  There  need  not  be 
of  necessity  a  murder  in  that  house ;  but  it  is  only  too 
probable.  As  to  the  startling  details  of  his  (Paterfa- 
milias^s)  irascible  temperament,  and  the  administration 
of  his  horsewhip  to  the  female  servants  ;  as  to  Materfa- 
milias's  attacliment  to  Eau-de-Cologne  as  a  refreshing 
drink;  as  to  his  eldest  son's  flirtation  v.'ith  the  governess, 
and  other  little  household .  cma  of  that  sort — these  will, 
of  course,  make  their  incidental  appearance  in  the  course 
of  the  principal  catastrophe;  they  will  form  the  accesso- 
ries of  that  thrilling  scene  which  will  one  day  present 
itself  to  the  public,  when  the  curtain  is  suddenly  pulled 
up,  by  the  hand  of  the  law,  without  the  prompter's  bell. 
But  the  scene  itself !  Heavens!  there  will  perhaps  be  a 
pamphlet  published  about  it,  with,  wood-cuts,  adapted 
from  existing  works  of  fiction ;  Paterfamilias  himself 
being  misrepresented  under  the  guise  of  ''Bertram  the 
Bloodsucker,"  as  he  once  appeared  in  a  cheap  novel  that 
was  never  popular.  Of  course,  after  the  explo.-^ion  has 
taken  place,  all  the  neighbors  assert  that  it  was  notliing 
more  than  might  have  been  expected ;  they  themselves 
had  long  heard  rumblings,  earthshakings,  portents  of 
various  kinds,  which,  however,  from  feelings  of  '^  per- 
haps mistaken  delicacy"  (and  the  fear  of  actions  for 
libel),  they  had  not  communicated  to  others.  But  in 
sober  truth,  before  that  great  finale,  with  the  blue  and 
red  fire  at  the  wings,  exhibited  itself,  no  such  spectacle 
was  at  all  anticipated,  and  least  of  all  by  many  of  the 
dramatis  2^ersonce  of  the  piece  themselves ;  all  was  genteel 
comedy  with  them,  without  the  least  tincture  of  melo- 
drama. 

Where,  for  instance,  to  all  appearance,  were  the  ele- 
ments of  such  a  catastrophe  in  the  limited  household  of 


THE     SHADOW     IN     T  Ji  E     HOUSE.  95 

Dr.  William  Gallon,  general  practitioner,  at  Casterton  ? 
consisting  as  it  did  of  him  and  his  son  only ;  Mrs.  Har- 
topp ;  Mary,  "  niece  to  the  above,"  as  the  old  playbills 
say;  Sally,  a  maid-of-all-work ;  John,  a  groom.  From 
what  we  already  know  of  the  good  doctor,  we  may  con- 
clude that  no  suspicion  of  drink,  far  less  of  philandering, 
need  attach  to  him.  The  housekeeper,  too,  was  placed  by 
time  above  temptation  from  the  afPections;  and  as  to 
liquids,  she  never  touched  anything  stronger  than  the 
home-vintages,  such  as  cowslip  and  ginger  wine;  not  from 
virtue,  but  because  "  wines  and  sperits,"  as  she  expressed 
it,  ^^  allays  flew  to  her  head.'^  The  groom,  a  sober  per- 
son, who  liked  drab  for  its  own  sake,  was  engaged  to 
marry  Sally,  a  circumstance  which,  to  those  who  were 
acquainted  with  that  young  lady's  personal  appearance 
(she  was  mottled  throughout,  that  is  to  say,  as  far  as  the 
public  eye  could  range,  like  brawn),  ap[)eared  strange 
indeed,  but  still  not  sufficiently  so  to  be  romantic.  Mary 
Perling,  the  quiet  lass  who  took  so  handily  to  mince-meat, 
was  good-looking  enough,  it  is  true,  to  have  caused  ten 
Trojan  wars,  but  who  was  there  left  to  woo,  far  less  to 
quarrel  about  her?  ^^To  conclude — but  it's  scarcely 
worth  while  to  put  that  in — there  was  one  little  boy  ;  but 
he  only  learned  Latin."  A  youth  of  such  tender  years 
that  he  had  not  yet  gone  to  the  university,  but  Avas  en- 
gaged with  mere  preliminary  studies,  could  scarcely  be 
considered  a  dangerous  element  in  any  household.  That, 
at  least,  was  Dr.  Gallon's  opinion,  the  lad's  own  father, 
who  surely  ought  to  have  known  if  anybody  did.  "  My 
son,"  he  would  have  said,  and  not  without  a  certain  dig- 
dity,  had  we  ventured  to  Cjuestion  the  fact,  '^  is  a  mere  boy, 
who  has  not  (I  am  thankful  to  say)  been  contaminated 
by  evil  example.  He  is  a  good  lad,  too,  and  incapable 
of  committing  a  baseness.  Indeed,  his  disposition  is  so 
open  and  candid,  that  it  could  scarcely  harbor  a  secret 
under  any  circumstances." 

This  is  the  blessed  creed  of  many  fathers.     Mothers 
are  even  more  trusting  ex:cept  in  certain  cases,  when  their 


96  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

darling  innocent  may  be  within  reach  of  any  ravening 
wolf  in  petticoats,  bent  upon  the  destruction  of  his  youth- 
ful happiness.  If  Mrs.  Galton  had  been  living  it  is 
doubtful  whether  Mary  Perling  would  have  been  suf- 
fered to  make  mince-meat  in  that  house  so  long.  She 
Avould  have  been  provided  with  a  most  excellent  situa- 
tion somewhere  else,  not  within  walking-distance  of 
Casterton^  in  less  than  a  week  after  her  mistress  had 
heard  that  her  son  and  the  young  woman  had  come 
home  in  the  carrier's  cart  together. 

Master  Frederick  had  not  followed  Jacob  Lunes  and 
his  fair  charge  to  his  father's  house  at  once  upon  that 
occasion.  He  had  given  them  time — thereby,  doubtless, 
doing  some  violence  to  the  exceeding  openness  of  his 
disposition — in  order  that  their  arrival  and  his  own 
might  not  be  simultaneous.  Had  not  the  carrier  said 
that  uncle  Morrit  would  be  annoyed  to  think  that  his 
nephew  and  Mary  had  been  fellow-travellers  (although,  as 
Jacob  had  very  truly  observed,  there  was  no  sort  of  harm 
in  it) ;  and  might  not  his  father  have  a  similar  objection  ? 

Frederick  had  therefore  waited,  dawdling  (m  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village,  and  at  length  entered  the  home- 
gate  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  whistling,  as 
though  nothing  remarkable  had  occurred.  Want  of 
thought  is  not  invariably  the  reason  why  folks  whistle ; 
they  sometimes  do  it  to  conceal  their  thoughts.  One 
man  will  v.diistle  upon  finding  himself  in  a  lonesome  lane 
at  night,  and  seeing  a  couple  of  suspicious  fellows  with 
i)]udgeons  lounging  at  the  far  end  of  it,  in  order  to  sug- 
gest the  idea  of  a  carelessness  which  he  by  no  means  feels  ; 
while  another,  who  flits  behind  him,  wall  whistle  in  order 
to  let  these  gentlemen  know  that  there  is  game  coming 
their  way  likely  to  repay  any  trouble  they  may  be  put  to 
in  securing  it.  It  is  also  without  doubt  the  habit  of 
many  polished  persons  to  whistle  melodies  in  order  to 
hide  their  annoyances,  wdien  they  would  much  rather  (if 
it  were  but  consonant  with  etiquette)  expend  their  breath 
in  maledictions^  or  even  physical  violence. 


THE     ,^  H  A  D  O  W      IX     THE     HOUSE.  97 

When,  therefore,  Mrs.  Hartopp  met  her  young  master 
at  the  door,  and  said  with  a  grin  :  ^'  So  you  came  home 
with  my  niece  Polly,  did  you?"  she  might  have  knocked 
that  young  gentleman  down  with  a  feather.  He  was  an 
exceedingly  clever  fellow,  there  is  no  doubt ;  but  he  was 
but  a  male  creature,  after  all.  His  stupid  idea  of  con- 
cealing that  he  had  already  met  with  the  house-keeper's 
niece  was  in  every  way  worthy  of  his  sex.  On  the  other 
hand,  Mary's  first  words  to  her  aunt,  after  their  mutual 
salutations  were  over,  had  acquainted  her  with  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  case.  She  was  not  a  very  clever 
girl,  and  no  more  intrigante  by  nature  than  the  rest  of 
womankind;  but  she  at  once  foresaw  the  imprudence 
(though,  perhaps,  not  the  impropriety)  of  sharing  any 
such  secret  with  her  young  master,  which  Jacob  Lunes 
would  have  it  in  his  power  to  reveal  at  any  time.  The 
misogynists — allied  with  whom,  alas,  is  Materfamilias — 
will  call  this  cunning.  It  was  nothing  of  the  sort ;  it 
was  merely  the  working  of  that  instinct  of  self-defence 
with  which  Providence  has  endowed  every  unprotected 
female ;  but  for  it,  there  would  be  far  worse  havoc  among 
them  even  than  there  is.  I  do  not  doubt  that  the  hawk 
afSrms  the  doves  to  be  a  most  deceitful  race.  I  have 
known  manv  men  in  many  cities,  Vea,  and  even  simple 
gentlemen  in  country-places,  but  I  have  never  known  one 
(though  the  victims  are  popularly  believed  to  be  as  plenti- 
ful asblackberries)  wh  has  been  ^'  ensnared  by  a  female." 
Ensnared !  As  well  you  might  say  that  the  sparrows 
ensnared  Master  Fred  when  he  went  a  bat-folding. 
What  cowardly  falsehoods  men  repeat  to  one  another 
concerning  this  matter ;  those,  too,  whose  very  profes- 
sions would  seem  to  demand  of  them  truth  and  chivalry. 
To  hear  them  talk,  one  would  imagine  that  a  young  gen- 
tleman who  would  be  virtuous,  or  not  married  against 
his  will,  must  needs  go  about  the  world  with  the  word 
Engaged  placarded  on  him,  as  though  he  were  a  railway 
carriage,  and  that  even  that  might  be  an  insufficient 
security. 
6 


98  MAREIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

It  is  quite  probable — nav,  certain — that  every  female 
who  has  attained  the  age  of  seventeen  or  so  is  more  or 
less  upon  the  look-out  for  a  husband.  A  man  has  his 
own  calling,  a  score  of  things  to  concern  himself  with, 
among  which  marriage  is  but  one,  although,  indeed,  it 
occupies  a  prominent  place.  A  woman  has  only  mar- 
riage to  look  to ;  and  she  does  not  lose  sight  of  it  some- 
times so  early  as  migh.t  be  desirable.  Moreover,  she  is 
often  desirous  to  marry  well ;  unduly  anxious  {^'  Design- 
ing, artful  hussy!"  clucks  Materfamilias,  covering  her 
male  chicks,  if  they  have  any  expectations,  with  her  in- 
dignant wings)  to  ally  herself  with  a  class  above  her  own. 
This  is  a  great  weakness.  But  have  men  no  weaknesses 
of  the  same  sort?  Do  they  stoop  to  no  fawnings,  no 
trucklings,  no  time-servings,  in  order  that  they  may  mix 
with  people  a  round  or  two  higher  on  the  social  ladder 
than  themselves  ?  Truly,  as  the  people  of  Siam  approach 
their  aristocracy  upon  their  stomachs,  so  do  many  of  us 
go,  all  the  days  of  our  lives,  when  in  presence  of  cur 
superiors,  as  though  the  curse  pronounced  upon  the  ser- 
pent of  old  was  shared  JDy  the  toad-eaters.  But  except 
the  trifling  losses  of  independence  and  self-respect,  no  hurt 
happens  to  the  male  whatever.  Xo  Lady  Clara  Vere  de 
Yere  of  real  life  ever  yet  made  a  tenant-farmer  cut  his 
throat  for  love  of  her ;  our  agriculturists  (male)  are  not 
such  fools  as  that,  whatever  the  Radicals  may  say.  But 
with  the  woman,  it  is  different;  in  this  weakness  of  hers 
lies  a  great  danger.  She  stakes  high — higher  than  she 
can  afford,  more  than  is  becoming — for  a  great  prize,  and 
sometimes  she  loses  all. 

Mary  Perling's  father  had  been  a  wheelwright  in  a 
country  village,  and  would  'have  left  his  widow  and 
family  pretty  well  to  do  in  respect  of  fortune,  if  he  could 
have  kept  out  of  the  public-house.  He  had  not  been  a 
drunkard,  but  had  enjoyed  his  glass  and  social  compan- 
ionship overmuch  for  his  station  in  life.  Had  he  been  a 
gentleman,  and  spent  the  same  time  at  whist,  or  in  a 
club  smoking-room,  there  would  have  been  nothing  to 


THE      -  H  A  I>  C>  \V     I  >:      T  HE      HOUSE.  9U 

complain  of;  but  as  it  was,  he  had  been  considered,  and 
justlv,  to  be  a  dissipated  man.  The  proportion  of  in- 
come which  a  poor  man  spends  in  pleasure  of  that  sort 
(if  he  spend  anything)  is  \ery  great,  as  compared  with 
the  expenditure  of  the  rich.  All  pleasures  are  dear,  save 
such  as  gathering  primroses,  and  it  is  not  every  unedu- 
cated person  who  has  a  pastoral  taste.  So,  finding  herself 
left  with  straitened  means,  and  having  another  daughter  at 
home  to  assist  in  the  house-management,  Widow  Perling 
sent  her  ^Nlary  out  to  service,  although  she  was  not  abso- 
lutely compelled,  by  reason  of  poverty,  to  do  so.  She 
was  not  a  beggar,  ^  at  all  events,  that  might  not  be  a 
chooser  as  to  the  nature  of  the  girl's  employment.  A 
somewhat  superior  place,  as  assistant  to  an  ancient  house- 
keeper, had  been  procured  for  her  in  Grosvenor  Square, 
London,  in  the  family  of  one  of  the  county  members; 
and  in*the  meantime  she  had  been  sent  to  her  aunt  Har- 
topp  to  learn  to  make  certain  dainties  and  preserves,  as 
well  as  to  lay  in  a  stock  of  the  bracing  air  of  the  Downs 
against  the  time  she  should  be  "in  city  pent."  Mary 
had  not  been  brought  up  to  work  at  anything  more  seri- 
ous than  samplers;  it  had  seemed  a  pity  to  her  father,  to 
lier  mother,  to  everybody,  in  short,  that  saw  her,  that 
such  a  lily  of  the  field  as  she  should  be  made  to  toil  at 
all ;  and  indeed,  so  long  as  Abraham  Perling  was  alive — 
a  stalwart  skilful  man,  who  was  never  out  of  work,  nor 
sick  (save  that  dread  once,  when  it  was  unto  death) — 
there  was  no  necessity  for  it. 

Marv,  therefore,  was-  almost  as  ignorant  of  useful  arts, 
as  any  lady,  and  had  a  lady's  hands;  she  could  play  a 
few  simple  airs  upon  the  piano  rather  nicely ;  she  had 
acquired  a  smattering  of  French,  which,  however,  she 
was  never  foolish  enough  to  attempt  to  pronounce;  and 
she  had  devoured  a  couple  of  small  circulating  libraries. 
^IsLV  be  these  had  done  lier  harm.  AVe  poor  writers  of 
fiction  are  always  making  beauty  triumphant,  and  smooth- 
ing awav  the  direst  social  difficulties  from  the  path  of 
merit.     *'^  Take  her,  you  dog,  take  her :  there  is  thirty 


1  00  .Af  A  r:  R  I  E  D     BENEATH     H  I  :VI . 

thousand  pounds  upon  tlie  mantle-piece,  and  it's  yours/' 
cries  the  relenting  guardian  or  opulent  uncle,  in  novels 
of  the  affections  jxi SSI m.  And  perhaps  Mary  mistook  fic- 
tion for  real  life.  Moreover,  she  had  always  been  made 
much  of,  admired,  paid  court  to,  while  at  home,  as  though 
she  had  been  a  superior  being  to  those  about  her  (which, 
indeed,  to  all  appearance  she  was).  She  was  a  perfectly 
modest  young  woman,  but  without  much  humility  of 
mind.  She  did  not  think  via  ordinaire  of  herself  by  any 
means.  It  is  probable  she  was  never  impressed  with  the 
absolute  impossibility  of  Frederick  Gal  ton  becoming  her 
husband ;  it  is  certain  that  she  was  not  by  this  time — at 
the  period  of  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson's  visit  to  Casterton. 
She  had,  it  is  true,  thought  the  young  gentleman  an 
angel,  as  she  listened  to  his  eloquence  in  the  carrier's 
cart;  but  he  had  given  her  to  understand  that  he  at 
least  reciprocated  that  sentiment.  She  had  nev*er  seen- 
any  one  so  handsome,  so  brilliant,  so  attractive,  in  all 
her  life  before ;  but  neither  had  he  been  similarly  favored, 
and  he  had  told  her  as  much,  more  than  once — an  admis- 
sion which  she  had  not  been  betrayed  into.  She  had 
looked  up  to  him,  as  Endymion  to  the  moon,  as  though 
he  had  been  a  divinity ;  but  the  luminary  had  descended 
of  its  own  accord,  and  assured  her  of  her  mistake.  If 
either  of  them  was  more  than  mortal,  he  protested  that 
it  was  not  he  but  herself. 

Then  the  young  gentleman  had  a  powerful  ally  in  the 
muse.  He  wrote  verses  to  the  beloved  object,  accusing 
her  of  coldness,  wherein  ^^Mary"  rhymed  with  "chary," 
and  slipped  them  into  her  hand  when  opportunity  offered 
(which  was  btit  seldom),  upon  the  sly.  This  was  the 
worst  feature,  of  Frederick  Galton's  courtship.  It  was 
underhand,  secret,  and  entailed  all  sorts  of  lies — white, 
piebald,  and  as  black  as  Erebus. 

This  was  the  shadow  that  haunted  the  good  doctor's 
house.  To  do  him  justice,  the  young  fellow  had  no  idea 
of  wronging  the  poor  girl ;  on  the  contrary,  his  delib- 
erate intention — if  intentions   can  be  called   deliberate 


THE     H  TEA  DOW     IN     THE     HOUSE.  101 

which  are  mainly  entertained  to  excuse  present  ill-con- 
(Uict — was  to  marry  her ;  not  to-day,  nor  to-morrow,  but 
whenever  it  should  be  convenient,  and  afterwards  to 
educate  her,  after  his  own  fashion.  He  would  teach  her 
to  ap])reciate  Shelley.  At  present,  she  wanted  insight 
into  that  poet,  and  couldn't  abide'— ^sh(^  irsed  thcAvpi'd 
"abide''— his  "Sensitive  Plant,''  to  which  Fred  had 
especially  drawn  her  attention,  and  indeed  hmj  oi^ce^Tea^ 
to  her  aloud,  in  a  voice  of  the  dee}>est' 5eeKag.'-'lhe  6ir-' 
cumstances  under  which  she  had  listened  to  it  were 
indeed  every  way  favorable  to  poetical  sentiment.  The 
young  couple  were  alone,  and  in  a  charming  spot,  on  the 
south  side  of  Leckhamsley  Round ;  the  mighty  fosse  was 
almost  filled  up  with  underwood,  amid  which  grew  in- 
numerable  wild  flowers.  It  was  there  that  the  village 
children  found  the  first  primrose,  and  the  earliest  violet 
of  the  year.  The  blue-bell  and  the  hare-bell  rang  their 
silent  peals  there  to  every  breath  of  summer  wind. 

This  lovely  spot  was  called  by  the  grateful  folks  of 
Casterton,  Eden  ;  and  it  was  also  by  no  means  unpro- 
vided with  serpents.  That  was  the  one  drawback  to  the 
pleasure  of  wandering  in  that  sunny  place,  which  once, 
perhaps,  had  sheltered  Csesar :  ever  and  anon,  there 
would  run  a  shudder  through  the  flowers,  and  then  a 
reptile  would  cross  your  path,  and  make  you  shiver  in 
spite  of  yourself,  and  though  you  knew  it  could  not  hurt 
you.  Thus  it  happened  on  the  very  day  that  the  "  Sen- 
sitive Plant "  was  first  read  ;  and  the  young  lady  w^as 
infinitely  alarmed  at  the  occurrence:  it  was  doubtless 
due  to  the  confusion  of  that  moment  that  Mr.  Frederick 
Galton  made  use  of  a  rather  warmer  expression  than 
their  mutual  relation  warranted. 

"These  serpents  are  perfectly  harmless,''  he  said, 
■^^  dearest.''^ 

Perhaps  she  did  not  hear  him  ;  it  is  certain  that  she 
omitted  to  box  his  ears.  Mary  Perling  could  reach  Eden 
from  Casterton  by  walking  about  a  mile  and  a  quarter; 
Frederick  Galton  dare  not  get  thither  under  five  miles. 


102  MARRIED     B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HIM. 

She  approached  it  by  the  road  leading  directly  to  the 
Round ;  while  he  had  to  leave  the  village  at  the  other 
end,  and  stroll  away  in  the  opposite  direction,  until  he 
could  make  a  safe  detour.  This  may  serve  for  an  ex- 
ample of  the  sort  of  footing  upon  which  these  young 
'flt.lk^.  no\t  Stb(c)d:  "wrth  respect  to  others.  There  was 
nofhing  open- 'ciird'- "straightforward  about  it;  and  the 
.^!7i'4oT\^  in- "the  irnconscrous  doctor's  dwelling  darkened 
daflyi''''It'maj  be  thoiVjrlit  singular  that  the  father  should 
have  been  without  the  least  suspicion  of  anything  being 
wrong  with  his  son,  for  the  lad  was  certainly  changed 
in  manner,  and  even  in  disposition.  He  had  often  to 
be  addressed  more  than  once  before  he  returned  an 
answer,  whereas  his  ear  had  been  wont  to  be  ever  keen 
and  attentive  to  the  paternal  voice.  His  air  was  be- 
coming distraught;  liis  step  had  lost  its  elasticity;  he 
had  no  appetite  for  breakfast;  his  spirits,  except  by  fits 
and  starts,  were  low.  It  was  a  pity  that  Dr.  Gal  ton  was 
a  medical  man,  or  else  he  would  scarcely  have  put  all 
these  symptoms  down  to  liver. 

Mrs.  Hartopp  also,  it  niay  be  reasonably  imagined, 
would  have  kept  too  vigilant  an  eye  upon  her  niece  to 
admit  such  ^'goings  on"  to  be  long  undiscovered.  But 
Mary  Perling  was  vigilant  too,  as  the  circumstances  of 
the  case  required.  She  had  the  most  innocent  counte- 
nance— ^^the  mirror  of  the  maiden  mind  within" — that 
ever  was  seen ;  her  smile  was  angelic ;  her  color  was 
that  delicate  rose-tint  which  belongs  to  the  western  clouds 
a  little  after  the  sun  has  left  them — the  memory  of  a  hue, 
rather  than  the  hue  itself.  As  she  never  blushed  like  a 
vulgar  peony,  her  aunt  concluded  that  there  was  nothing 
to  blush  about. 

Mary  happened  to  be  passing  through  the  entrance- 
hall  when  Mr.  Johnson  called  on  Monday  morning,  in 
pursuance  of  his  promise  to  Frederick ;  and  although  it 
was  not  her  place,  she  answered  the  ring  at  the  bell. 
The  editor  was  an  enthusiastic  (aesthetic,  of  course)  ad- 
mirer of  female  loveliness,  and  presently  took  the  liberty 


THE     SHADOW      IN     THE     HOUSE.  103 

of  congratulating  the  doctor  (who  had  remained  at  home 
that  forenoon  on  purpose  to  receive  him)  upon  the  come- 
liness of  his  domestic.  He  protested  that  he  had  never 
seen  any  one  so  beautiful,  and  at  the  same  time  so  modest- 
looking. 

"Ay,  ay,  indeed/^  said  the  doctor,  "  she  is  a  pi-etty  lass 
enough." 

"  Which  of  them  was  it,  father  ?  *'  inquired  Frederick, 
carelessly,  who  had  been  up-stairs  at  the  time  of  Mr. 
Johnson's  arrival. 

'']]liich  of  them  icas  it?'^  repeated  Mr.  Johnson,  with- 
out stuttering,  and  italics.  "  Is  it  possible,  then,  that 
this  household  comprises  another  such?" 

"  O  nonsense,  Frederick,"'  interposed  the  doctor.  "  It 
must  have  been  Marv,  of  course ;  there  can  be  no  sort 
of  doubt." 

Presently,  Sally  came  in,  bearing  the  luncheon-tray 
in  her  mottled  hands.  Frederick  looked  with  steadiness 
and  determination  at  the  grate,  but  he  felt  that  the 
visitor  had  his  eye  upon  him,  and  that  it  was  not  the 
fire  alone  which  was  making  his  ingenuous  countenance 
crimson  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  What  demon  of  indis- 
cretion had  induced  him  to  make  such  an  observation,  I 
know  not ;  nor  did  he  know  himself;  he  only  knew  that 
he  had  made  it.  Which  of  them  teas  it — that  is,  Mary 
or  Sally  ? 

If  such  double-distilled  hypocrisy  had  evoked  almost 
a  reproof  from  the  simple  doctor,  what  must  a  shrewd 
man  of  the  world,  like  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson,  think  of 
it?  Frederick  would  have  treated  his  own  remark  as  a 
piece  of  humor — a  jest — but  the  time  was  gone  by  for 
that.  He  ventured  to  look  up  while  the  other  two  were 
making  conversation,  with  as  unconcerned  a  glance  as 
he  could  assume,  but  dropped  his  eyes  immediately,  while 
a  shudder  ran  through  his  veins. 

Dr.  Galton  was  pointing  out  the  top  of  the  Round 
from  the  window,  but  the  editorial  gaze  was  not  wholly 
following  his  directions  :  it  was  fixed  in  part  upon  Mr. 


104  MARRIED     BENEATH      HIM. 

Frederick  Galton,  and  was  saying,  as  plainly  as  eye 
could  speak:  ^'You  are  certainly  the  most  impudent 
young  humbug  We. ever  beheld.'^ 

Mr.  Jonatiiau  Johnson  fraternised  greatly  with  the 
doctor ;  his  guileless  and  inartificial  character  delighted 
the  town-reared  gentleman,  whose  study  was  mankind. 
The  home-made  sausages,  which  had  formed  "a  portion 
of  their  late  meal,  were  such  as  could  not  be  got  in  the 
metropolis,  and  excited  the  rapture  of  the  guest;  the 
host  expatiated  upon  them  as  a  more  fashionable  gentle- 
man would  have  scorned  to  do,  except  upon  his  wines — 
but  then  what  the  doctor  said  was  true.  He  described 
minutely  the  different  parts  which  made  up  the  harmo- 
nious whole.  "  Mrs.  Hartopp,"  said  he,  warming  with 
his  subject,  ^'  was  equal  to  even  greater  achievements : 
mince-pies  for  example — there  were  some  upon  the  table, 
and  Mr.  Johnson  might  judge  for  himself" 

The  editor  was  dyspeptic,  and  avoided  all  pastry  upon 
principle,  but,  nevertheless,  he  despatched  one  of  these 
country  dainties  with  much  content.  ''  It  is  exquisite," 
said  he ;  ^'  but  perhaps  it  requires  a  little  cor — cor — 
cor—" 

"  Get  the  French  brandy,  Fred,"  exclaimed  the  doctor, 
whose  practised  ear  was  acutely  sensitive  to  the  physical 
needs  of  his  fellow-creatures.  'M  corrective,  as  you 
suggest,  cannot  possibly  hurt  one;  but  there  is  nothing 
whatever  unwholesome  in  that  pie.  Mr.  Absit,  our 
non-resident  rector  here,  and  an  excellent  judge  of  good 
things,  gave  me  the  condiments  for  it  in  his  own  hand- 
writing before  he  went  abroad.  He  recommends  that 
the  mince-meat  be  buried  in  the  earth  a  week  or  two. 
I  am  sorry  your  visit  to  Casterton  is  such  a  flying  one^: 
if  you  could  have  stayed  over  dinner-time,  you  should 
have  tasted  our  black  puddings;  they  are  made  after 
another  of  the  rector's  recipes,  and  a  very  characteristic 
one.  ^  Chop  the  fat,'  writes  he,  '  into  pieces  of  the  size 
of  small  dice.''  He  was  too  much  given  to  play,  especially 
for  a  clergyman."     Thus  rattled  on  the  genial  doctor, 


THE     SHADOW     IX     THE     HOUSE.     -     lOo 

well  pleased  to  have  so  eminent  a  listener  as  the  con- 
ductor of  tlie  Paternoster  Pryrcvplne,  who,  he  had  Fred- 
erick's word  for  it,  was  one  of  the  most  intellectual  men 
in  Europe. 

At  last,  however,  the  inevitable  gig  came  to  the  door, 
and  host  and  guest  shook  hands  with  cordiality.  The 
doctor,  however,  little  knew  that  upon  that  stranger's 
decision  as  to  the  literary  value  of  certain  manuscripts 
up-stairs,  Avhich  he  himself  had  never  even  set  eyes  upon, 
depended  mainly  what  profession  his  son  would  follow 
for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Master  Frederick,  too,  little  knew  it  was  owing  to  the 
favorable  impression  that  his  kind-hearted  father  had 
produced  on  the  editorial  mind,  rather  than  to  tlie  in- 
trinsic value  of  the  perfbi  nuance  itself,  that  his  critic 
presently  bore  the  infliction  of  the  Carthaginian  novel  so 
good-naturedly. 

"Do  you  think,  sir,  that  the  Punic  tale  will  do  for  the 
Porcitpine?^^  demanded  the  youth  with  diffidence,  not 
unmixed  with  hope,  after  he  had  read  several  selec- 
tions. 

"  Bless  my  soul  and  body,  no,  sir,"  returned  the  editor 
with  irritation  ;  "  nor  the  epic  poem  either;  nor  the  con- 
founded rubbish  about  the  i*robability  of  your  finding  an 
early^  tomb;  nor  any  of  those  things  of  which  you  think 
most  highly.  But  you  entertained  me  yesterday  with  a 
most  excellent  account  of  Bat-folding;  write  that  out  at 
length  in  your  best  English,  and  1  will  send  it  to  the 
printer's  at  once,  and  give  you  a  couple  of  guineas." 

The  enthusiastic  lad  could  have  embraced  this  bald- 
pated  M&ecenas,  who  had  thus  unbarred  for  him  the  jeal- 
ous gates  of  Literature.  He  wanted  to  accompany  him 
to  Mr.  Morrit's  house,  in  order  to  see  the  last  of  such  a 
benefactor;  but  Mr.  Johnson  declined  that  attention, 
upon  the  plea  that  he  had  only  an  hour  to  spend  with  his 
old  friend,  and  wislied  to  have  some  private  talk  with 
him. 

If  Mr.  Frederick  Galton  had  known  ichy  he  wished  it. 


106  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

SO  far  from  being  grateful^  he  would  perhaps  have  made 
a  desperate  attempt  to  strangle  his  Maecenas,  before  he 
left  the  paternal  threshold. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE    IXFOEMER. 

THE  Rev.  Robert  Morrit  was  an  old  baclielor,  and  a 
somewhat  selfish  person,  as  all  bachelors  are,  and 
I)erhaps  one  or  two  married  men  also,  but  yet  he  really 
loved  and  admired  his  nephew.  He  was  opposed  to  his 
adopting  literature  as  a  calling,  but  he  would  have  been 
mortified  to  hear  that  the  lad's  talents  were  not  sufficient 
for  the  exercise  of  that  profession,  and  therefore  awaited 
Mr.  Johnson's  verdict  with  some  anxiety. 

'^  Well,  and  what  do  you  make  of  my  boy,  eh  ?  Is  he 
up  to  the  standard  ?  Is  he  fit  to  be  enrolled  in  the  ragged 
regiment  ?  " 

The  editor  was  a  little  piqued  at  this,  for  he  himself 
had  at  one  time  been  unappreciated  by  publishers,  and, 
unless  for  his  fellowship,  would  scarcely  have  fared 
sumptuously,  or  employed  a  very  fashionable  tailor.  "  He 
will  do  very  well  for  a  drummer-boy,'^  returned  he. 
"  There  is  no  knowing  what  he  may  turn  out,  but  at 
present  I  can  detect  no  idiosyncrasy — " 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  interrupted  the  curate,  snappishly. 
"I  never  hear  that  word  without  thinking  it  is  derived 
from  ^  idiots '  and  '  crazy.'  People  generally  use  it  with- 
out in  the  least  knowing  what  it  means,  and  when  they 
do  know,  they  attach  a  value  to  it  which  it  does  not  pos- 
sess. There  is  no  class  so  untractable  and  unsatisfactory 
at  college  as  your  idiosyncratic  young  gentlemen — bovs 
who   imagine  themselves  adapted   for  some  exceptional 


THE     INFORMER.  107 

ptii>suir,  wf:ich  is  usually  a  more  or  less  disreputable  one. 
1  Know  them  well,  sir."  And  the  curate  looked  at  the 
editor  as  if  lie  knew  him  particularly  well.  '' Xay,  sir," 
he  continued,  •'  they  are  very  often  mistaken  even  in 
that,  and  have  no  more  real  affinity  with  their  self-chosen 
pursuits  than  the  wood-cut  of  a  halfpenny  ballad  has 
with  the  subject  it  embellishes,  or  the  glees  at  a  public 
dinner  have  to  the  toasts  which  they  accompany." 

"  The  toasts  are  sometimes  very  appropriate/'  returned 
the  other,  dryly.  '^  1  was  at  a  dinner  the  other  day  at 
the  London  Tavern,  where  'Ye  Spotted  Snakes  with 
Double  Tongue/  immediatelv  i?ucceeded  'The  Clergy.'" 

At  this  Mr.  Morrit  fell  into  such  a  fit  of  laughter,  that 
large  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  His  indignation  was  alto- 
gether quenched, 

"Did  you  really  hear  that,  Johnson?  Yes,  I'm  sure 
you  must  have  done  so,  for  you  could  never  have  in- 
vented anything  half  so  good.  But  don't  let  us  quarrel, 
ray  good  sir ;  we  two  are  very  old  friends,  Jon.athan." 

"  '  Ye  Spotted  Snakes  with  Double  Tongue,'"  repeated 
that  gentleman.  ''  What  is  it  you  are  driving  at,  Morrit  ?  " 

"  Well,  Johnson,  the  fact  is  I  am  deeply  interested  in 
Master  Fred,  and  in  all  that  is  likely  to  happen  to  him. 
I  don't  consider  myself  a  dull  man,  and  I  knov\'  that  he 
is  a  far  cleverer  fellow  than  I  was  at  his  age.  Your 
pretence  of  his  being  an  ordinary  lad  is  simply  ridiculous; 
nobody  knows  that  better  than  yourself:  now,  I  depend 
upon  your  judgment  in  this  matter,  so  tell  me  truly  what 
you  think." 

"  Well,  then,  Morrit,"  returned  the  other,  frankly,  "  if 
you  want  the  truth,  you  shall  have  it;  and,  indeed,  I 
should  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  tell  it  you,  in  any 
case,  before  I  left  your  roof.  I  perceive  that  his  father, 
or  you,  or  whoever  is  to  have  the  management  of  that 
youth,  will  have  no  easy  task  on  his  hands — " 

"He  is  a  fine-hearted,  high-spirited  fellow,"  inter- 
rupted Mr.  Morrit,  warmly,  "frank  and  fresh  as  the 
spring-time,  oj^en  and  honest  as  the  dawn/' 


108  MAREIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

The  other  regarded  this  enthusiasm  with  much  serenity, 
scratching  his  nose,  and  yawning,  until  the  outbreak  had 
subsided,  and  then  remarked :  ''  Of  his  honesty — so  far 
as  respecting  other  people's  goods  is- concerned — I  have 
no  doubt ;  but  as  for  his  openness — '^ 

'^Ah,  there  you're  wrong,"  broke  in  the  curate;  "  upon 
his  perfect  candor  I  would  stake  my  existence." 

"  Stake  your  stuff  and  nonsense ! "  stammered  the 
editor.  "  Don't  try  to  come  over  me  with  any  new-fan- 
gled notions  about  the  moral  perfection  of  boys.  .  Those 
may  suit  mothers  very  well;  but  in  the  mouth  of  a 
bachelor  uncle,  addressing  a  bachelor  friend,  they  are 
simply  senseless.  The  boy  is  exceedingly  clever,  has 
great  fertility  of  thought,  and  genuine  humor,  and  will, 
in  short,  be  quite  up  to  the  mark  of  the  Porcupine — in  a 
year  or  two.  But  with  those  gifts,  and  doubtless  much 
kindliness  of  disposition,  you  must  be  content,  Morrit; 
for  in  morals,  I  believe  Don  Juan  might  have  derived 
advantage  from  his  experience,  while  in  hypocrisy  and 
barefaced  effrontery,  I  know  that  the  lad  exceeds  Tar- 
tuife  !  " 

^^Tartuife!"  gasped  the  Rev.  Robert  Morrit— ^^  my 
nephew  exceeds  Tartuffe  !  " 

Then  Mr.  Jonathan  Jolinson  bluntly  delivered  his 
reasons  for  suspecting  that  Master  Frederick  Galton  was 
courting  Miss  Mary  Perling,  "a  most  excellent  mince-pie 
maker,  but  in  other  respects,  I  should  think,  scarcely 
fitted  to  become  your  niece  by  marriage." 

'^Xiece  by  marriage!"  muttered  the  curate,  repeating 
the  other's  words,  to  assure  himself  that  his  ears  were 
not  deceiving  him.  Then  recovering  himself,  as  by  a 
jerk  from  a  sort  of  lethargy,  induced  by  the  mere  sup- 
position of  such  a  calamity,"he  added  with  cheerfulness: 
'•My  dear  fellow,  .you  have  some  exceedinglv  good 
points,  but  you  always  were  a  ridiculous  idiot*  and  a 
ridiculous  idiot  you  will  be  until  the  day  you  die." 

^^Very  good,"  responded  the  editor,  coolly.  "You 
don't  believe  me.     What  was  evidence  enouo-h  for  me,  I 

•3  7 


THE     I  X  F  O  E  M  E  R  .  109 

suppose  docs  not  suffice  for  a  divine,  wlio  always  thinks 
the  best  of  everybody,  and  leans  by  nature  towards  char- 
ity. Perhaps,  however,  you  will  believe  the  young  gen- 
tleman's own  handwriting.  While  he  was  reading  to  me 
a  rather  uninteresting  narrative  concerning  ancient 
Carthage,  I  amused  myself  with  turning  over  his  other 
manuscripts  ;  thrust  among  them,  as  though  he  had  been 
suddenly  disturbed  in  its  comjiosition,  I  found  an  unfin- 
ished copy  of  verses  addressed  to  the  young  lady  in 
question,  which  I  am  quite  certain  (if  I  do  remember 
my  own  youth)  were  not  by  any  means  his  first  attempt 
upon  this  inspiring  subject.  He -could  not  have  written 
it,  I  am  very  sure,  unless  some  of  the  same  sort  had  been 
favorably  received  before.  I  have  a  pretty  good  memory, 
and  I  shall  be  delighted  to  repeat  the  poem,  if  you  like; 
but  you  must  be  prepared  for  a  little  warmth  of  expres- 
sion. You  have  no  wish  to  hear  it  ?  That's  a  pity,  too ; 
for,  for  a  ridiculous  idiot,  I  am  thought  to  have  some 
little  talent  for  recitation.  However,  you  can  ask  him 
for  the  verses  yourself;  there  can  be  no  mistake  about 
them.  They  are  addressed  to  M.  P. ;  and  I  was  very 
nearly  passing  them  over,  under  the  impression  that  they 
were  of  a  political  character.  I  don't  much  care  for  the 
political  opinions  of  young  gentlemen  of  seventeen.  He 
is  seventeen,  is  he  not,  Morrit?" 

^^  Barely  that,  if  so  much,"  groaned  the  curate,  sinking 
back  into  the  chair  from  which  he  had  discharged  him- 
self like  a  rocket,  at  the  first  touch  of  these  evil  tidings. 
"  ^Vhat  on  earth  should  be  done  with  such  a  young  rep- 
robate?" 

"  Well,  if  you  ask  my  opinion — but  there,  I  am  only 
a  ridiculous  idiot — I  should  say,  let  the  boy  have  change 
of  scene  and  people  as  soon  as  possible.  Send  him  to 
the  university  next  month  instead  of  in  October ;  you  will 
easily  get  them  to  take  hiui  in  a  by-term  at  Minim  Hall ; 
and  let  the  young  lady  go  home  to  her  friends  immediately." 

'^  The  artful  minx  shall  not  stay  another  day  in  the 
house,"  quoth  the  curate,  with  virtuous  indignation. 


110  :\I  A  E  Pv  I  E  D      BENEATH      HI  M  . 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  take  her  in  my  fly/'  returned  the 
other,  grinning.  "  \yhat  will  you  give  me,  if  I  engage 
her  young  affections,  and  persuade  her  to  throw  your 
nephew  overb<^ard,  eh  ?  They  say  that  almost  all  the 
secret  service-money  is  exi)ended  upon  persons  who,  by 
their  self-sacrifice,  prevent  mesalliances  of  this  kind 
among  the  aristocracy.  The  bishoprics  are  notoriously 
devoted  as  rewards  for  assistance  of  this  nature.'' 

At  this  moment,  however,  the  vehicle  appeared  at  the 
door,  and  thereby  put  out  of  the  question  the  disinterested 
offer  of  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson. 

"I  trust  you  will  pass  your  word,  Johnson,  not  to  let 
this  disgraceful  affair  be  known,"  appealed  the  curate, 
with  earnestness. 

"Certainly,  my  good  sir,  certainly;  but  you  must  not 
mind  my  putting  it  into  the  Porcupine — in  the  form  of 
story,  that  is.  It  will  be  so  highly  spiced"  [the  curate 
Avinced],  "  that  nobody  would  ever  recognize  the  raw 
materials  of  the  thing.  I  live  by  my  wits,  you  see,  and 
really  cannot  afford  to  let  the  matter  escape  me  altogether. 
Good-by,  my  dear  fellow.  I  sincerely  trust  that  every- 
thing may  turn  out  in  accordance  with  the  interests  of 
respectability,  but  if  not,  and  tlie  young  people  insist 
upon  being  married — well  there,  don't  be  angry,  it's 
merely  a  supposition — I  say,  if  they  do  insist,  then  be 
sure  they  send  me  wedding-cards  and  a  bit  of  the  cake. 
I  should  think,"  muttered  the  departing  cynic,  as  the 
wheels  crunched  dully  over  the  snow — "  I  should  think 
she'd  make  a  wedding-cake  exceedingly  well."  . 


DEPARTED.  Ill 

CHAPTEE    X.     -/ 

DEPARTED. 

MR.  FREDERICK  GALTOX,  whom  some  of  his 
best  friends  would  still  persist  in  calling  Master 
Freddy,  had  evil  dreams  on  the  night  that  Mr.  Jonathan 
Johnson  left  Casterton.  He  tossed  and  tumbled  restlessly 
upon  his  little  bed  till  he  got  the  sheets  untucked  at  the 
foot,  when  we  all  know  what  happened ;  he  had  to  rise 
and  put  things  to  rights,  and  getting  warm  again  was  not 
so  very  easy.  It  was  impossible  for  an  author,  whose 
reputation  was  about  to  become  European,  to  sink  into 
slumber- like  any  tired  school-boy.  He  was  eaten  up 
with  premonitions  of  greatness.  The  man  who  wakes  to 
find  himself  famous,  almost  always  rather  anticipates  the 
pleasant  surprise  overnight.  When  Frederick  did  get  to 
sleep  after  his  four-and-twentieth  round  or  so  with  the 
pillow,  it  was  only  to  see  Fame  nearer  than  ever.  She 
ran  beside  him  with  a  trumpet  in  each  hand,  and  "Hail, 
thou  great  popular  novelist ! "  cried  she,  between  the 
flourishes — "  hail,  mighty  poet,  hail  I  "  The  winged 
horse  seemed  actually  at  his  door,  its  bridle-rein  held  by 
Mary  Perling,  as  the  muse  of  amorous  poetry,  and  he 
was  about  to  mount  it,  when  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson 
appeared  with  a  pair  of  enormous  shears — the  horrid 
weapons  of  the  critic — and  set  to  work  clipping  Pegasus. 
The  noise  of  this  operation  was  as  the  creaking  of  cart- 
wheels, insufficiently  greased.  He  was  not  sure,  as  he 
sat  up  in  his  bed  and  listened,  but  that  it  really  was  cart- 
wheels, mixed  with  the  barkitig  of  a  dog ;  the  dim  gray 
morn  was  breaking,  and  he  would  have  risen  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  to  convince  himself,  but  it  was  too 
cold ;  as  it  was,  drowsiness  overcame  curiosity.  Some 
people  say  there  is  a  mysterious  affinity  between  the  souls 
of  lovers,  which  will  not  permit  the  one  to  be  ignorant 


112  IMAERIED      BP^sE  ATH      H  1  .\i . 

of  aDything  serious  that  happens  to  the  other.  This  may 
be  so  in  some  cases,  but  it  certainly  failed  in  that  of 
Master  Frederick;  ])erhaps  it  does  not  take  eifect  until 
one  or  both  the  parties  are  of  age.  Otherwise,  our  hero 
would  surely  have  been  cognizant  that  the  carrier's  cart, 
the  very  chariot  v^hich  had  iirought  his  goddess  to  Cas- 
terton,  was  at  that  mouient  in  the  act  of  conveyino*  her 
away.  His  fatiier  was  anxiously  watching  her  departure 
from  his  dressing-room  v.indow.  Mrs.  Hartopp,  in  a 
garment  composed  entirely  of  flannel,  was  packing  her 
into  the  vehicle.  ^Ir.  Jacob  Lunes  was  arranging  his 
parcels  so  as  to  offer  her  the  least  possible  inconvenience. 
She  herself  was  watching  the  white  curtain  behind 
Frederick's  window,  trusting  to  see  it  move,  to  get  a 
wave  of  the  hand,  a  motion  of  the  head  to  carry  away 
with  her  in  her  heart  to  comfort  her.  But  the  curtain 
hung  unstirred  as  in  the  chamber  of  Death  itself  Fred- 
erick Galton  turned  himself  round,  drew  the  bed-clothes 
with  blind  solicitude  over  his  left  shoulder,  and  fell  fast 
asleep  again. 

Xobody  called  him  on  that  Tuesday  morning.  Mrs. 
Hartopp  could  not  trust  herself  even  to  shape  the  con- 
ventional statement  that  it  was  eight  o'clock.  He  slept 
on  till  nine;  and  when  he  came  down  to  breakftist,  the 
doctor  was  already  departed  upon  his  professional  tour. 
He  was  literally  afraid  to  see  his  son.  If  he  had  enter- 
tained a  suspicion  of  vice  in  the  matter,  of  wrong  to  the 
poor  girl,  he  would  have  sought  him  face  to  face  at  once, 
and  rebuked  him  with  words  of  fire.  But  he  was  con- 
vinced that  Frederick  had  fallen  in  love  with  Mary 
Perling  in  all  honor,  and  he  dreaded  to  behold  him  while 
Love  and  Duty  should  be  tugging  in  opposite  directions 
at  his  heartstrings.  ^^It  is  all  my  fault,"  muttered  the 
good  doctor  again  and  again,  anathematizing  his  own 
imprudence  in  having  taken  Mary  into  the  house  at  all — 
"it  is  all  my  own  fault;"  so  that  one  or  two  of  his 
patients  who  did  not  feel  any  better  that  morning  re- 
echoed the  sentiment  with  some  horror.     'Mil  vour  own 


DEPARTED.  113 

fault,  doctor  ?     Goodness,  gracious,  have  you  been  giving 
me  the  wrong  medicine  ?  " 

"  Far  from  it,  madam,"  he  would  reply ;  ''  there  is  a 
decided  improvement ;  greater  activity,  more  firmness ;  " 
for  the  doctor  always  spoke  of  the  subjects  of  his  care  as 
though  they  were  railway  shares. 

But  as  soon  as  he  was  in  his  gig  again,  the  superficial 
smile  would  fade  away,  and  the  old  man  would  shake 
his  head,  and  mutter  within  the  folds  of  his  double 
shawl :  "  It  is  all  my  own  fault— all  mine."  Rarely, 
indeed,  had  he  passed  a  more  melancholy  night  than  that 
which  had  just  elapsed. 

Mr.  Morrit  had  written  to  say  :  'Ms  soon  as  Fred  has 
taken  himself  to  bed,  I  must  iiave  a  talk  with  you." 
And  he  had  come  and  repeated  the  information  which 
Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  had  laid  against  the  lad.  The 
doctor  never  attempted  to  refute  it:  a  hundred  little 
t^ircumstances  of  suspicion  thronged  about  his  brain,  all 
stung  into  life  by  this  one  piece  of  evidence,  which  would 
else  have  never  risen  up  to  vex  him,  just  as  paste  eels, 
which  have  lain  lifeless  in  the  dry  for  years,  and  would 
do  so  forever,  will  become,  upon  the  application  of  a 
drop  of  water,  as  lively  as  grigs. 

''  I  see  it  all  now/'  groaned  the  doctor,  with  his  head 
in  his  hands. 

"I  hope  you  do,"  returned  his  brother-in-law, 
drily. 

Something  in  the  tone  jarred  harshly  upon  the  other^s 
ear.,    "  I  will  answer,"  he  said,  "  for  my  son's  honor  with 
own." 

Just  what  I  said  to  Johnson  about  his  openness," 
remarked  Mr.  Morrit,  "  before  I  learned  these  stubborn 
facts." 

'^  He  may  have  been — he  has  been  weak  ;  but  believe 
me,  Robert — " 

'^I  do  believe  3/01/,"  interrupted  the  other,  grasping 
his  hand  ;  "  but  that  must  suffice.  Let  us  now  take 
nothing  for  granted,   but  make  certain  of  the  future. 

7 


114  MARRIED     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

That  girl  must  go  at  sunrise  to-morrow ;  I  have  told  the 
carrier  to  call  for  the  luggage." 

^'  Poor  girl !  "  sighed  the  doctor,  tenderly. 

"  Yes,  that  is  one  objection  to  her/'  returned  the  curate, 
grimly ;  "  she  is  poor,  but  that  is  by  no  means  the  worst. 
She  is  an  insolvent  carpenter's  daughter.  She  has  been 
your  hired  servant.  I  never  noticed  it,  but  I  dare  say 
she  has  not  got  an  h  to  her  name." 

"  Yet  suppose  Frederick  insists  ?  " 

^'  Galton,  you  talk  like  a  fool,"  broke  forth  the  other, 
angrily.  "He  insist!  What!  a  boy,  a  child?  Is  it 
possible  that  you  can  ever  picture  to  yourself  the  giving 
way  to  a  wicked  whim  of  this  kind,  the  acquiescence  in 
his  cutting  his  own  throat  at  the  very  threshold  of  the 
world?  XVould  you  give  your  consent,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances   imaginable,    to    your    son's    making    a   low 


marriage  ?  " 


The  doctor's  head  was  bowed ;  he  answered  nothing, 
but  held  his  hand  up  piteously,  as  though  he  would  say : 
"Spare  me;  vou  do  not  understand;  you  never  had  a 
son." 

"  Then  let  us  hear  nothing  more  of  such  vicious  Aveak- 
ness,"  continued  the  curate.  '^AYhen  your  son  ^vakes 
to-morrow  morning,  and  finds  the  girl  gone,  he  will  com- 
prehend it  all,  without  your  having  to  say  a  word  about 
it;  or,  if  he  wants  to  argue  upon  the  subject,  refer  him 
to  me.  By  Thursday-  night  he  will  be  at  Minim  Hall, 
for  I  have  written  to  the  president  by  this  day's  post, 
who  vrill  take  him  in,  even  though  it  be  vacation  time, 
for  mv  sake.  I  wish  he  vras  going  there  to-morrow.  A 
fortnight  of  Camford  life  will  doubtless  go  far  to  eradi- 
cate this  foolish  passion." 

Thus  had  tlie  two  elders  settled  it  between  them ;  and 
the  girl  was  gone. 

Master  Frederick  breakfasted,  and  lounged  into  the 
kitchen,  with  a  passing  glance  into  the  housekeeper's  room, 
where  Mrs.  Hartopp  vras  so  very  busily  engaged  that  she 
did  not  even  turn  her  head  to  look  at  him  as  he  went  by 


DEPARTED.  115 

Mottled  Sally,  streaked  with  flour,  was  engaged  with 
dough  and  a  rolling-pin.  For  any  delicacy  of  touch 
possessed  by  her,  she  might  have  been  the  donkey  who, 
in  the  well-knovrn  advertisement,  levels  lawns  by  help  of 
the  patent  roller.  "Making  pastry,  eh,  Sally ?'^  re- 
marked the  young  gentleman,  with  his  eyes  roving  in 
vain  after  the  beloved  object. 

'^ Only  dumplings,  Master  Frederick;  and  even  that 
is  far  too  fine  a  job  for  me.  But  there,  as  Mrs.  Hartopp 
says,  she  can't  do  everything;  and  we  must  get  on  in 
the  best  wav  we  can,  now  Marv  Perling's  gone  and  left 
us.^^ 

"  Mary  gone  I  "  cried  Frederick. 

"O  yes,  sir;  she  went  this  morning  in  'Mv.  Lunes  his 
cart.  Don't  ye  whirl  about  like  that  with  your  coat- 
tails.  Master  Frederick.  Lor,  if  you  haven't  a  covered 
yourself  vrith  flour  !  " 

"Are  they  gone  to  the  railway  station  ?  *'  asked  the 
voung  man,  impatientlv,  with  his  hand  on  the  door- 
latch. 

"Yes,  Master  Frederick;  but  it's  too  late  to  send  any- 
thing by  the  cart  now,  for  it's  a-coming  back  by  this 
time.  La,  how  she  did  yowl,  to  be  sure,  and  you  never 
to  have  heard  nothin'  of  it,  though  it  were  under  your 
very  window ! " 

"Yowl  I "  echoed  the  young  man,  passionately.  "What 
do  you  mean,  VNoman?" 

"The  bull-pup,  sir.  Mr.  Lunes  had  tied  her  under 
the  cart,  this  marning,  for  the  first  time,  and  you  might 
have  heard  her  atop  of  the  Round." 

A  crooked  smile  found  its  way  to  Frederick  Galton's 
lips ;  he  staggered  back  to  the  lobby,  and  took  down  his 
coat  and  hat  mechanically.  Inside  the  latter  was  pinned 
a  little  piece  of  paper,  with  "  Remember  me "  upon  it. 
Under  what  circumstances  must  those  few  syllables  have 
been  pencilled — in  what  sorrow,  what  wretchedness! 
Yes,  he  would  remember  her,  so  help  him  Heaven. 
Nay,  he  would  do  more ;  he  would  follow  her^  and  that 


116  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

clirectij.  Oldborough,  where  her  home  lay,  was  only 
five-and-thirty  miles,  as  the  crow  flew.  To  him,  who 
was  not  a  crow,  it  was  indeed  nearer  fifty;  but  he  could 
at  least  reach  the  railway  station  in  time  for  the  evening 
train ;  he  knew  the  hour  at  which  it  started,  for  his  love 
had  rendered  tlie  Oldborouoh  branch  as  a  bouo^h  with 
murmuring  doves  upon  it,  and  the  half-page  of  Bradshaw 
which  contained  it  was  a  sacred  poem.  He  would  be 
with  her  yet  by  the  8.45  train  p.m.  But  this  undertaking 
of  Abelard  was  not  to  be. 

^^  Master  Frederick  Galton  !  ^'  said  a  voice  that  should 
have  been  familiar  to  him,  but  of  Avhose  identity,  since  it 
had  never  hitherto  called  him  anything  but  Master 
Freddy,  he  might  well  have  doubts — "  I- was  directed  to 
inform  you  that  your  f^ither  would  be  home  at  one  o'clock. 
He  went  out  earlier  this  morning,  on  purpose  to  be  home 
to  lunch  with  you." 

The  young  man  stood  irresolutely  upon  the  doorstep. 
He  had  never  dreamed  that  the  prospect  of  an  interview 
with  his  own  father  could  have  filled  him  with  such 
aversion  and  dismay. 

"  The  doctor  left  this  letter  for  you  in  the  breakfast- 
room,  sir ;  he  meant  to  put  it  on  the  table,  \mt  being 
much  agitated  this  uiorning,  he  laid  it  on  his  desk,  where 
you  did  not  see  it." 

Frederick  tore  open  the  envelope  with  an  anxiety  he 
took  no  pains  to  conceal. 

''  My  dear  Frederick  :  I  have  sent  Mary  Perling 
away ;  no  father  could  have  done  otherwise ;  but  I  do 
not  wish  to  increase  your  sorrow  by  my  reproaches.  I 
feel,  indeed,  that  I  am  more  to  blame  in  the  matter  than 
yourself.  I  shall  return  to-day  to  luncheon,  and  meet 
you  as  though  nothing  had  happened.  A  few  months 
hence,  and  we  shall  both  be  able  to  talk  over  all  this 
with  calmness.  In  the  meantime,  let  us  keep  silence  for 
both  our  sakes.  By  to-morrow  evening  you  will  be  at 
the  university.     It  would  have  spared  me  some  hours  of 


DEPARTED.  117 

bitter  sorrow,  if  you  had  been  sent  there  six  months  ago, 
as  your  uncle  ^yished.  I  did  all  for  the  best,  as  I  tried 
to  persuade  myself;  but  I  now  know  that  I  acted  self- 
ishly :  I  did  wrong,  but  it  was  all  out  of  my  great  love 
for  you,  Fred.     Always  your  loving  father, 

^^  AViLLiAM  Galtox." 

So  there  was  to  be  no  dreadful  explanation  after  all — 
that  was  one  comfort ;  and  he  was  to  be  despatched  to 
Camford  within  twenty-four  hours — that  was  another 
comfort.  Life  in  Casterton,  now  that  Mary  Perling  had 
left  it,  would,  lie  felt,  be  unendurable.  As  for  giving 
her  up,  as  for  any  final  separation  between  him  and  her, 
such  an  idea  never  crossed  his  mind.  He  saw,  indeed, 
that  his  father  took  it  for  granted ;  and  he  felt  it  was 
better  so,  than  that  they  should  dispute  on  a  question 
upon  which  liis  whole  soul  answered  yea  to  the  doctor's 
nav.  The  contemplation  of  anything  but  a  union  with 
Marv,  in  the  end,  was  impossible  to  him.  He  v,as  mis- 
erable enough  in  its  mere  postponement.  The  sun  was 
withdrawn  from  his  heaven  as  for  an  arctic  winter,  and 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait  wearily  for  that  dawn 
with  which  comes  not  only  day  but  spring,  and  the  brief 
glorv  of  the  year.  She  seemed  to  have  been  the  breath 
of  life  to  him,  and  that  in  her  absence  he  existed  but  by 
some  inadequate  system  of  artificial  respiration.  The 
leafless  trees  looked  barer  and  more  comfortless,  now  that 
she  had  gone.  The  robins,  finishing  the  breakfast-crumbs 
which  he  had  strewn,  as  usual,  on  the  window-sill,  had  a 
less  cheerful  note  of  gratitude.  He  took  the  long,  white 
road  that  led*  between  banks  of  snow  to  "  the  Round," 
and  surveyed  once  more  that  view  of  which  Mr.  Jonathan 
Johnson  had  said  "it  looks  like  Death."  And  now  it 
seemed  that  the  editor  had  been  right.  The  beautiful 
dingle  Eden,  where  he  had  first  called  her  "  dearest,"  lay 
beneath  him,  with  its  every  bramble  laden  with  snow ; 
nor  was  it  more  altered  from  its  summer  aspect  than  were 
his  present  feelings  from  those  with  which  he  had  last 


118  MA  RE  I  ED     BENEATH      HIM. 

visited  it.  The  very  bush  beneath  which  they  t\yo  had 
sat  together,  stood  out  in  its  smooth,  shining  garment 
like  a  tombstone.  He  was  very,  very  wretched.  All 
the  world  he  had  ever  known  lay  stretched  beneath  him 
for  the  last  time;  for  this  leave-taking,  his  susceptible 
imagination  represented  as  a  final  adieu.  It  was  a  scene 
very  dear  to  him  ;  his  life  had  hitherto  passed  happily  in 
the*  midst  of  it ;  he  would  have  had  no  desire  to  exchange 
it  for  Camford,  or  auy  other  place,  but  for  what  had 
happened  that  morning.  He  had  never  estimated  it,  as 
it  seemed,  at  its  proper  value  until  now.  There  were  a 
score  of  places  distinguishable  to  him  from  where  he 
stood,  notwithstanding  their  uniform  white  raiment,  with 
each  of  Avhich  some  pleasure  was  associated.  It  is  true 
that  they  weighed  nothing  in  comparison  Avith  that  spot 
Avhich  I  have  already  mentioned,  hallowed  by  the  first 
avowal  uf  his  love ;  but  they  helped  to  luirden  his  heart. 
After  a  little,  however,  as  his  thoughts  becam^less  selfish, 
liis  face  began  to  kindle,  and  his  chin  to  cease  to  drop 
upon  his  chest. 

"I  will  bring  her  hither  as  my  wife,"  cried  he,  aloud: 
"  she  shall  stand  side  by  side  with  me  upon  this  Round ; 
and  so  shall  all  things  here  be  made  doubly  dear  to  me." 


CHAPTER    XI. 

MINIM    HALL. 

MIXIM  HALL  at  Camford  is  by  no  means  an  ex- 
tensive institution.  It  is,  as  compared  with  most 
of  the  other  royal  and  pious  foundations  of  that  univer- 
sitv,  as  were  the  principality  of  Mentone,  or  the  republic 
of  San  Marino,  to  the  great  European  powers.  It  was 
concernino^  Minim  Hall  that  the  witticism  was  originally 


MINIM     HALL.  119 


promulgated,  that  there  \yere  but  three  men  in  the  col- 
lege, whereof  one  did  not  speak  to  anybody,  and  the 
other  two  were  not  on  speaking  terms  with  each  other. 
The  men  of  third-rate  colleges  would  even  assert  that 
thev  had  never  been  able  to  discover  this  retired  little 
establishment  at  all.  Eut  St.  Boniface,  whose  Hall 
would  have  held  all  the  small-college  men  together — St. 
Boniface,  whose  foundation  is  so  extensive  that  its  Fellows 
are  found  from  Indus  to  the  Pole,  in  all  sorts  of  superior 
conditions,  and  one  of  whom,  having  purchased  an  insular 
property  in  the  Caribbean  Sea,  but  lately  requested  of  the 
Seniority  permission  to  draw  his  dividends  a  few  months 
sooner  than  usual,  because  he  was  about  to  levy  war  against 
a  neighboring  island — St.  Boiiiface,  I  say — the  Leviathan 
— rather  affected  Minim  Hall.  It  v.as  from  the  former 
that  the  three  undergraduates  belonging  to  the  duodecimo 
institution  always  drew  their  fourth  man,  and  made  up 
their  rubber. 

Of  course,  the  excessive  diminutiveness  of  the  Hall  was 
not  without  its  disadvantages.  The  election  of  its  chief 
was  a  hole-and-corner  affair,  in  the  hands  of  five  persons, 
each  of  whom  wished  to  nominate  himself  Upon  one 
occasion,  they  had  no  less  than  five  elections  without 
coming  to  any  result,  in  consequence  of  this  distribution 
of  interests,  when,  upon  the^motion  of  one  Dr.  Slyboots, 
the  final  consideration  of  the  matter  was  fixed  for  the  six- 
teenth of  the  ensuing  montli.  Xov;,  the  doctor  only,  of 
these  sapient  persons,  was  aware  that  the  power  of  elect- 
ing a  Principal  would  lapse  into  the  Chancellor's  hands 
upon  the  fifteenth ;  so,  on  the  previous  day,  he  took  post- 
horses  to  London,  humbugged  tiiat  eminent  functionary 
in  some  subtle  manner,  and  returned  with  the  appointment 
in  his  own  pocket.  The  electors  assembled  the  next 
morning,  and,  as  usual,  arrived  at  no  decision ;  but  the 
doctor  saved  them  ail  further  trouble  and  uncertainty,  by 
producing  his  credentials,  and  installing  himself  in  the 
Principal's  lodge.  After  this,  the  struggle  was  allowed 
to  be  between  two  persons  only ;   but  even  then,  there 


120  MARRIED     BE:N-EATH     HIM. 

were  strange  things  done  in  the  little  Republic.  For 
example,  let  us  suppose  A  and  B  were  the  two  candidates. 
As  a  matter  of  courtesVj  it  is  understood,  on  all  such 
occasions,  that  B  votes  for  A,  and  A  for  B.  B  is  the 
less  popular  of  the  pair  at  Minim  Hall,  and  yet  he  gets 
elected  thus :  No.  1  votes  for  A,  Xo.  2  votes  for  A,  and  A 
votes  for  B ;  Xo.  3  votes  for  B,  and  B  votes  for  himself, 
and  becomes  President.  T  am  speaking,  of  course,  of  a 
state  of  things  that  has  been  long  exploded,  and  did  not 
exist  even  at  the  time  when  Mr.  Frederick  Galton  went 
up  to  Minim  Hall.  Its  Principal  at  that  period — Dr. 
Hermann — -would  on  no  account  have  acted  as  B  did. 
He  was  a  hearty,  honest  gentleman,  of  the  church-and- 
king  and  port-wine  school,  whose  merits  people  are 
too  little  anxious,  now-a-days,  to  disclose;  while  on 
the  other  hand,  their  frailties  are  in  all  the  penny  papers. 

He  respected  Mr.  Morrit  (notwithstanding  that  story 
of  the  "twenty  "  l^rt),  as  being  a  defender  of  his  slowly- 
dying  political  faith,  as  well  as  the  cleverest  man  that  had 
ever  emerged  from  the  hallowed  precincts  of  the  hall,  not 
excepting  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson,  whom  he  deemed  a 
revolutionary  ingrate,  unworthy  of  consideration  —  a 
democratic  serpent,  whom  a  conservative  Alma  Mater 
had  nourished  in  her  too  confiding  bosom. 

Mr.  Frederick  Galton  was  therefore  welcomed  by  the 
Principal  with  open  arms,  and  received  very  different 
treatment  from  that  experienced  generally  by  freshmen 
from  college  dons. 

The  President  actually  took  the  young  man  for  a  walk 
on  the  morning  after  his  arrival,  and  ])ointed  out  to  him 
the  various  objects  of  interest  in  the  deserted  city ;  not, 
indeed,  so  genially  as  some  ciceroni  might  have  done,  but 
still  he  did  it.  One  does  not  expect  such  a  great  author- 
ity to  be  genial,  and  if  he  be  even  civil,  it  is  a  matter  of 
surprise  and  thankfulness;  as  Dr.  Johnson  observed  in 
respect  to  another  matter,  it  is  like  a  dog  standing  upon 
his  hind-legs  ;  he  does  not  do  it  well,  but  one  is  astonished 
that  he  does  it  at  all.     Dr.  Hermann  did  not  by  any 


MIXIM     HALL.  121 

means  do  it  well,  but  snapped  out  his  information  in  the 
most  indigestible  and  disjointed  form  conceivable.  The 
solemn  smileless  man  had  a  habit  of  keeping  his  eyes 
shut,  which,  according  to  one  set  of  college  wits,  accounted 
for  his  political  opinions,  and  according  to  another,  for 
his  "  never  seeing  a  happy  moment."  Long  experience, 
however,  enabled  him  to* calculate  when  he  had  arrived 
at  anv  remarkable  spot  in  the  university. 

The  Principal  of  ^Minim  Hall  had  written  elaborately 
upon  the  Greek  Particles,  but  he  knew  very  little  of 
men."^ 

As  for  modern  literatui-e,  he  had  never  read  (for  in- 
stance) Thomas  Carlyle,  and  if  he  had  heard  of  him,  con- 
fused him  with  the'  notorious  demagogue  of  the  same 
name,  and  would  have  had  him  conveyed  to  iustant 
execution. 

He  considered  anv  man  to  be  a  fool  or  a  rascal  who 
advocated  any  opinions  but  his  (Dr.  Hermann's)  own, 
and  4he  language  he  was  permitted  to  use  in  Camford 
Combination  Rooms  would  not  have  been  tolerated  else- 
where. 

He  told  some  excellent  stories  to  his  young  friend,  upon 
this  their  first  dav  of  acquaintanceship,  which  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  tell  at  least  four  times  a  week  for  the  last 
thirtv  vears. 

Dr.  Hermann  was,  indeed,  in  many  respects,  as  Mr. 
J.  Johnson  used  irreverently  to  term  him,  "  a  solemn 
idiot : "  but  he  was  a  worthy,  honest  gentleman  for  all 
that.  The  sun  of  prosperity  had  shone  too  long  upon 
the  stagnant  waters  of  his  life,  but  there  was  good  bottom 
under  the  mud.  Mr.  Morrit  had  briefly  described  to  him 
the  nature  of  his  nephew's  case,  without,  however,^  com- 
promising the  familv  honor,  we  may  be  sure,  by  hinting 
at  the  position  in  life  of  Miss  Mary  Perling;  and  the  old 
gentleman  was  really  touched  by  the  lad's  calamity  and 

^^  ••  I>  it  possible  this  author  would  have  bad  us  print  it  u^v  ?  ''—Cho- 
rus oj  Printer^  BevUs. 


122  M  A  E  R  I  E  D     BENEATH     HIM. 

evident  mental  distress.  Perhaps  his  mind  reverted  to 
those  far-back  days  wherein  he  had  first  wooed  his  own 
Euphemia,  and  had  won  that  jewel,  but  not  by  any  means 
worn  her.  The  wooing  of  a  college  tutor  may  be  often 
not  long  a-doing ;  but  the  day  on  Vvhich  he  may  call  the 
beloved  one  "  wife/'  may  be  distant  a  quarter  of  a  century. 
He  may  court  a  maiden  with  hair  as  black  as  the  raven's 
wing,  and  wed  her  when  its  hue  is  that  of  the  owl.  If 
she  had  but  the  gift  of  foresight,  she  mi^it  even  marry 
somebody  else  in  the  meanwhile,  and  be  a  widow  ready 
for  his  unchanged  affections  by  the  time  when  the  college 
living  falls  vacant,  and  permits  him  to  claim  her,  or  the 
mastership  of  the  college  becomes  his  portion,  and  he  is 
enabled  to  strike  off  the  chains  of  celibacy  with  extraor- 
dinary pomp. 

One  of  the  really  most  romantic  views  of  a.  great  col- 
lege is  taken  from  this  stand-point;  dismiss. the  historical 
associations  connected  with  it  altogether — the  musty,  fusty 
memories  of  mathematicians  and  philosophers  who  have 
long  since  been  dust — and  fix  your  gaze  upon  the  great 
army  of  female  martyrs  who  are  so  wistfully  regarding 
its  slow  vicissitudes.  These  betrothed  virgins — for  widows 
have  not  the  requisite  patience — the  young,  the  middle- 
aged,  and  even  the  somewhat  advanced  in  years,  turn 
daily  their  anxious  eyes  upon  the  Times  for  the  obituaries 
and  the  preferments ;  they  charitably  rejoice  when  an  old 
gentleman  is  relieved  of  his  earthly  burden,  or  removed 
at  last  "to  a  more  extended  sphere  of  usefulness,"  by 
getting  a  living,  for  each  of  these  changes  is  a  step  which 
brings  them  nearer  to  their  beloved. 

AVhen  Death  beckons  a  rector  to  leave  the  [)ulpit  for 
the  vaults  beneath.  Hymen  is  beckoning  to  some  other 
member  of  the  same  religious  society  to  come  to  the  altar. 
While  the  widow  is  packing  up  and  leaving  the  rectory 
in  tears,  the  bride  is  thinking  it  high  time  she  should  be 
gone,  and  putting  on  the  vrhite  garments  and  wreath  of 
orange-flowers  that  ought  to  have  been  donned  years  ago. 

In  the  gift  of  Minim  Hall,  there  were  but  two  livings, 


MINIM     HALL.  l2'o 

and  one  evil-spoken-of  perpetual  curacy,  which  nobody 
could  be  got  to  take,  so  that  Dr.  Hermann  had  had  to 
wait  for  his  Euphemia  for  many  years:  and  it  was  whis- 
pered in  Combination  Room — which,  however,  to  say  the 
truth,  could  scarcely  be  worse  in  the  matter  of  scandal 
even  if  female  Fellows  were  admitted  to  them — that,  after 
all,  the  doctor  would  willingly  be  off  his  bargain. 

To  have  such  patient  virtue  rewarded^  by  a  shrew  at 
last,  was  indeed  sad  enough  ;  but  perhaps  the  very  wait- 
ing had  done  it.  Like  the  genie  in  the  bottle,  which  the 
fisherman  nets  in  the  Arab  km  ^Y/r/// ^s-,  the  milk- of  human 
kindness  may  have  turned  in  Euphemia  by  reason  of  the 
long  delay :  for  the  first  five  years,  she  may  have  had  the 
best  intentions  of  being  a  perfect  consort ;  for  the  next 
five,  she  may  have  determined  to  have  been  at  least  not 
worse  than  other  men's  wives ;  in  the  third  lustrum  (when 
she  took  to  caps),  she  got  to  brood  over  her  wrongs ;  and 
during  the  fourth  andlast,  it  is  possible  she  made  up  her 
mind,"  that  when  she  did  become  ]Mrs.  Hermann,  the 
doctor  should  smart  for  it. 

It  was,  however,  of  his  days  of  v>'ooing  that  the  Princi- 
pal of  Minim  Hall  vras  reminded  by  the  advent  of  the 
young  Freshman,  and  his  heart  was  stirred  with  divine 
pitv,  which  can  even  touch  the  souls  of  college  dons. 
Fred's  case  was  a  really  pitiable  one.  His  animal  spirits, 
and  natural  desire  to  make  himself  agreeable,  increased 
by  his  sense  of  the  doctor's  kindness,  sustained  him  while 
he  was  talking  or  listening,  but  if  left  to  himself  even  for 
a  minute,  he  relapsed  into  a  lethargy  of  woe.  His  imagi- 
nation was  in  Eden,  his  heart  was  in  Oldborough,  and  it 
was  only  the  body  and  bones  of  him  which  were  wander- 
ing about  Camford  streets  in  company  with  the  venera- 
ble Principal  of  Minim  Hali. 

To  any  new-comer  into  a  town  which  is  to  be  his 
future  home,  it  seems,  for  a  day  or  two,  as  though  the 
streets,  the  buildings,  the  churches,  will  never  become 
familiar  to  him,  although  in  a  week's  time  it  will  be  im- 
possible to  recall  the  sense  of  strangeness  which  they  at 


124  HAEEIED      BENEATH      HIM. 

first  produced;  but  Frederick  Galtou  could  hardly  be 
said  to  have  seeu  Camford  at  all. 

The  cloistered  courts  of  the  colleges,  made  vaster  even 
than  usual  by  the  absence  of  their  inhabitants^  the  carven 
brido-es,  linkino^  lavrn  ^vith  lawn  across  the  slu2;2:ish 
stream,  the  lime-tree  avenues,  the  echoing  dining-halls, 
and  all  the  characteristic  features  of  the  place  flashed  for 
a  moment  upoji  his  outward  eyes,  and  straightway  van- 
ished. If  he  had  been  transported  from  the  phice  forever 
at  the  conclusion  of  his  second  day  there,  his  recollection 
of  it,  in  spite  of  the  distinguished  patronage  under  which 
it  was  presented  to  him,  would  have  been  confined  almost 
solely  to  Minim  Hall.  "The  University  of  Camford," 
he  would  have  replied,  if  questioned,  "consists  of  two 
exactly  parallel  rows  of  buildings,  placed  in  an  enormous 
space,  and  wanting  the  other  two  sides  that  should  make 
np  its  square.  During  my  visit  to  this  interesting  local- 
ity (which  it  is  fair  to  say  happened  in  vacation-time), 
there  were  no  persons  occupying  the  various  suits  of 
apartments  into  whidi  these  blocks  are  divided ;  but  in 
full  term-time  there  are  said  to  be  no  less  than  three 
under-grad nates  in  residence,  beside  the  officials — namely, 
the  Principal,  the  Vice-Principal,  the  Dean,  the  Tutor, 
and  the  Bursar;  but  the  last  four  offices  (with  some 
others)  are  discharged  by  the  same  individual.  The 
chapel  is  an  elegant  structure,  capable  of  containing  all 
the  members  of  Minim  Hall  that  ever  existed,  or  ever 
shall  do  so,  calculating  the  annual  influx  of  alumni  at 
one  per  annum — which  is  the  average  for  the  last  hundred 
years,  etc." 

The  Vice-Principal,  Dean,  Tutor,  and  Bursar  was 
snipe-shooting  in  Norfolk,  so  that,  if  Dr.  Hermann  had 
not  invited  Frederick  to  liis  hospitable  board,  the  young 
man  would  have  dined  alone,  and  afterwards,  probably, 
invested  Minim  Hall  with  a  ghostly  interest  forever  by 
hanging  himself  in  the  spacious  wilderness  upon  which 
the  windows  of  its.  combination  room  abut.  Instead  of 
this,  however,  the  solitary  freshman  was  entertained  at 


MI^^IM      HALL.  125 

"  the  Lodge,"  by  the  Principal  and  Eiiphemia.  ^'  You 
see  we  are  quite  in  the  family  way,  young  man/'  observed 
that  lady,  in  apology  for  the  humble  fare,  which  con- 
sisted of  four  most  excellent  courses  and  a  pine-apple ; 
"  but  there  is  absolutely  nothing  to  be  got  in  Camford 
during  vacation-time."  This  was  a  stereotyped  phrase 
of  the  lady's  whenever  she  had  provided  something  better 
than  common  for  her  table,  notwithstanding  she  had 
once  received  for  answer:  "It  is  not  good,  madam,  but 
it  will  cZo,"  from  our  friend,  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson. 
That  original  and  rather  rude  response  gave  him  a  repu- 
tation in  Camford  for  years,  but  it  excluded  him  from  the 
Lodge  at  Minim  Hall  forever.  The  truth  is,  that 
Euphemin  herself  was  not  in  her  heart  of  hearts  a  hos- 
pitable person  ;  but  her  lord  was  her  master  in  the  matter 
of  viands ;  he  could  put  up  Avith  a  great  deal  of  snub- 
bing, and  he  did,  but  it  was  dangerous  to  under-feed  him. 

The  caged  lion  is  meek  enough,  and  will  perform  almost 
any  part  at  the  beck  of  its  keeper ;  but  let  the  man  be- 
ware how  he  tampers  with  the  culinary  arrangements  of 
that  noble  creature !  The  doctor  had  parted  with  his 
birthright  as  the  superior  animal,  but  it  was  not  for  a 
mess  of  pottage.  There  was  a  tacit  understanding  that 
soup  and  fish,  and  flesh  and  fowl,  ay,  and  eke  dessert, 
were  to  be  set  before  him  daily;  otherwise,  the  standard 
of  revolt  would  assuredly  be  raised. 

By  these  means,  the  Principal  of  Minim  Hall  always 
procured  guests,  who,  in  prospect  of  a  less  sumptuous 
banquet,  would  perhaps  have  been  deterred  by  the  pres- 
ence of  Euphemia. 

Phemy — as  she  was  called,  by  elision,  in  the  Combina- 
tion Pooms — was  not  popular  in  the  university.  She 
was  tall,  high-cheeked,  bony,  and  considered  herself  to 
have  a  mission  to  repress  immorality.  Mr.  Jonathan 
Johnson  (but  this  was  after  war  had  been  openly  declared 
between  the  lady  and  himself)  used  to  aver  that  nature 
had  intended  her  for  a  Scotcli  gamekeeper,  and  even  went 
so   far  as  to  draw  fancy  sketches  of  her   (for  private 


1 26  MARRIED     BENEATH     Ji  1  M  . 

< irculationj  in  Caledonian  costume.     She  was  in  jcalitv 
more  like  a  lady-abbess,  as  pictured  by  an  Exeter  Hall 
M'tist,  and  would  l)ave  enjoyed  that  part  of  her  profes- 
ional  duties,  which  included  bricking-up-alive  the  err- 
ing, most  amazingly.     Being  Protestant,  hov/ever,  to  the 
backbone  (of  which  she  had  plenty),  she  ought  to  have 
been  an  old  maid,  and  kept  a  school.     How  she  would 
have  watered  the  milk,  and  thinned  the  currants  in  the 
puddings,  and  confiscated  to  domestic  purposes  the  parcels 
Vom  home!     She  was  a  woman,  however,  still,  in  spite 
f  ^fr.  Johnson's  insinuations  to  the  contrary,  and  Master 
i'rcderick  Galton's  youth  and  good  looks  were  not  with- 
out their  effect  upon  her.     She  did  not  know  that  his 
tender  melancholy  arose  ,from  a  misplaced  attachment  to 
)  young  person  out  at  service.     She  was  very  affable  to 
Im  on  the  evening  of  his  arrival,  when  the  three  dined 
i'i'ether.     She  asked  after  his  motlier,  and  upon  learning 
iiat  he  had  none,  assured  him  of  her  genuine  sympathy, 
")r  that  she  also  was  motherless;  which,  indeed,  it  was 
iiigh  time  that  she  should  be.     She  would  have  put  her 
napkin  to  her  eye,  upon  making  this  affecting  statement, 
but  upon  perceiving  that  it  was  a  clean  one,  she  thought 
l)etter  of  it,  and  produced  her  i)ocket-handkerchief,  which 
was  not  open  to  the  same  objection  ;  but  the  opportunity 
and  the  tear  had  both  passed  away  by  that  time,  so  she 
only  blew  her  nose.     She  was  always  ready  to  perform 
that  operation,  being  one  of  that  extensive  class  of  females 
who  are  never  without  a  cold  in  their  heads. 

In  the  course  of  the  repast,  she  confided  to  her  young 
.niest  how  much  of  everything  of  which  he  had  partaken 
liad  cost ;  and  informed  him  generally  what  an  expensive 
establishment  she  had  to  keep  up,  and  what  a  great  re- 
sponsibility she  had.  It  was  not  an  intellectual  conver- 
sation, but  since  she  did  all  the  talking,  and  what  she  said 
required  very  little  attention,  Frederick  was  well  content. 
His  mind  was  far  away  from  Mrs.  Ilermann^s  statistics, 
and  she  was  gratified  to  observe  that  his  appetite  was 
extremely  moderate.     There  would  be  all  the  more  to  be 


MIXIM      HALL.  127 

hashed  next  day,  when  he  would  be  "  company "  no 
longer,  and  there  would  be  no  necessity  for  any  display. 
But  in  this  matter  she  had  reckoned  without  the  hoot. 

"  I  have  asked  Mr.  and  Miss  De  Lernay  to  meet  our 
young  friend  to-morrow/ my  dear,"  observed  the  doctor, 
when  half  a  bottle  of  excellent  sherry  had  encouraged 
him  to  make  confession. 

"  Indeed  !  "  returned  the  lady,  stiffly.  "  They  dined 
here  last  week.  I  wonder  (sarcastically)  that  they 
don't  get  tired  of  dining  here." 

"  If  they  did,  I  suppose  they  would  not  come,  my  dear. 
The  fact  is,  Mr.  Galton,  I  want  you  to  know  them,  for 
until  the  men  come  up  you  Vvill  find  it  duU'enough  up 
here.  Monsieur  de  Lernay  belongs  to  Minim  Hall,  and 
is,  like  yourself,  but  an  under-graduate.^' 

"  The  Principal  is  ridiculous  ! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Her- 
mann, sharply. 

"  AVhat  principle  is  ridiculous  ?  What  does  this  foolish 
woman  mean?''  thought  Frederick  to  himself.  It  was 
very  fortunate,  however,  that  he  did  not  assent  to  her 
propositiQu,  as  his  indifference  prompted  hiui  to  do;  for 
whenever  Eupheuiia  was  displeased  with  her  husband, 
she  was  accustomed  to  refer  to  him  in  the  third  person, 
as  ^^the  Principal."  "The  Principal  is  wrong;  the 
Principal  is  incredible;  the  Principal  is  absurd" — a  habit 
which  sometimes  led  strangers  into  the  most  unintentional 
rudeness  towards  the  worthy  doctor. 

"  The  explanation  of  the  matter  is  this,"  observed  the 
host,  with  heightened  color  : — "  Monsieur  de  Lernay  is  as 
old  as  I,  or" — he  was  about  to  add,  "as  Mrs.  Hermann ;" 
but  his  courage  was  not  equal  to  his  indignation — "as 
old  as  I,  or  I  am  much  mistaken ;  but  he  entered  nomi- 
nally, last  year,  as  an  undef -graduate.  He  does  not  live 
in  college,  but  with  his  daughter  Eugenie,  a  most  charm- 
ing young  lady,  in  the  town.  He  wishes  to  perfect  him- 
self in  classical  attairmients — a  most  creditable  ambition 
— and  has  therefore  taken  up  his  residence  at  Camford. 
A  French  nobleman,  whom  misfortunes  and  an  attach- 


128  MARRIED     BENEATH      HIM. 

raent  to  his  legitimate  sovereign  have  driven  from  his 
native  country,  he  is,  of  course,  received  among  us  with 
open  arms ;  and  still  more  so,  as  you  will  easily  believe 
when  you  see  her,  is  the  charming  Eugenie." 

'^  The  Principal  is  indecorous  in  the  extreme  .■ "  ex- 
claimed the  lady  of  the  house. 

"  Xot  at  all,  madam — not  at  all,"  rejoined  the  doctor, 
who  was  growing  bolder  with  every  glass.  '^  In  a  town 
where  there  is  little  female  society,  like  Camford,  a 
beautiful,  young,  and  accomplished  lady  is  a  welcome 
addition,  indeed,  to  our  social  gatherings.  I  mentioned 
to  Monsieur  de  Lernay  that  you  were  alone  here,  and  he 
at  once  expressed  a  wish  for  an  opportunity  of  making 
your  acquaintance. — Let  us  have  the  Ruffs  and  Reeves, 
my  dear,  and  then  we  shall  have  a  pleasant  entertain- 
ment." 

The  RufFs  and  Reeves  were  not  additional  guests,  as 
Frederick  at  the  time  imagined,  but  some  birds  peculiar 
to  the  locality,  and  very  excellent  eating,  which  Avere  at 
that  time  hanging  in  the  doctor's  larder. 

'^Have  you  any  further  orders  to  commiinicate? " 
inquired  the  lady,  rising  to  leave  the  table.  She  spoke 
with  asperity,  but  not  with  unmitigated  defiance,  for  she 
knew  it  was  the  doctor's  hour  of  might — the  after-dinner 
liour — that  one  twenty-fourth  part  of  their  combined 
existence  w^herein  his  will  was  law. 

"Nothing,  my  dear — nothing,"  was  the  bland  reply. 
"  The  salad  and  the  horse-radish  sauce  for  the  beef  will, 
I  know,  be  intrusted  to  no  less  skilful  hands  than  your 
own." 

Within  five  minutes  from  the  disappearance  of  his 
better-half,  the  doctor  was  fast  asleep,  with  a  napkin 
over  his  blooming  countenance ;  while  his  youthful  guest, 
with  eyes  sadly  fixed  upon  the  fire,  was  pondering  upon 
the  wretchedness  of  human  life. 


MOXSIEUR     DE     LERNAY.  129 

CHAPTER    XII. 

MONSIEUR   DE   LERXAY. 

MAXY  social  luxuries,  however  harmless  in  them- 
selves, have  this  disadvantage,  that  it  is  often 
inexpedient  to  indulge  in  them.  The  Indian  princes, 
who,  a  few  years  ago,  were  the  lions  of  a  London  season, 
complained  bitterly  that  they  were  not  permitted  to  ham- 
string their  own  attendants,  but  were  compelled  to  wait 
until  their  departure  from  this  miscalled  land  of  liberty, 
when  the  amiable  caprice  might  have  altogether  died 
a"way.  The  custom  of  relieving  the  mind  by  interjections, 
or,  in  other  words,  by  profane  swearing,  is  open  to  the 
same  objection ;  so  is  that  of  reciting  pieces  from  the 
dramatists,  which  seems  to  be  almost  a  necessity  with 
some  individuals ;  so  is  that  of  smoking — even  the  most 
delicate  tobacco  being  excluded  from  many  places,  such 
as  the  family-pew ;  and  so,  also — to  take  a  very  common 
case,  indeed — is  the  habit  of  going  to  sleep  after  dinner. 
Xothing  can  be  pleasanter  in  itself,  or  less  objectionable, 
one  would  think,  to  others :  the  body  is  in  complete 
repose,  the  handkerchief  over  the  face  almost  suggestive 
of  the  last  long  repose  of  all,  indeed,  but  for  the  defiant 
breathing  which  generally  accompanies  this  luxuiy ;  the 
mind  is  at  ease;  the  spiritual  essences,  if  any,  are  untaxed 
and  dormant;  the  digestion  only  is  at  work.  And  yet 
this  harailess  and  delightful  state  of  things  cannot  always 
be  indulged  in.  "When  you  go  out  to  dinner,  unless  the 
whole  of  the  party  (males)  are  addicted  to  the  custom, 
and  prepared  to  go  to  sleep  likewise — which  under  the 
present  and  imperfect  system  of  affairs,  almost  never 
happens — you  must  keep  awake  after  the  banquet.  If 
you  are  yourself  the  host,  this  is  still  more  incumbent  on 
you,  and  especially  if  you  have  but  few  guests.  AVith 
one  man,  indeed— if  there  is  no  particular  reason  for 
8 


130  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

being  civil  to  him — yoii  can  say  :  '^  Excuse  me,  while  I 
just  take  forty  winks  ;^'  and  if  you  have  a  greater 
revenue  per  annum  than  he  —  which  I  am  suppos- 
ing to  be  the  case — he  Avill  never  venture  to  disturb 
you.^ 

When  I  was  a  young  fellow  of  sixteen  or  so,  I  had 
once  the  honor — in  the  capacity  of  nephew  to  one  of  the 
parties — of  dining  alone  with  two  very  funded  persons, 
the  one  being  a  railway  director,  and  the  other  a  governor 
of  the  Bank  of  England.  They  were  equally  rich,  and 
consequently  very  courteous  to  one  another,  although  not 
particularly  so  to  me.  After  dinner,  the  conversation 
was  carried  on  by  fits  and  starts,  as  each  woke  up  from  a 
few  delicious  seconds  of  unconsciousness  to  a  sense  of  his 
indecorous  conduct.  At  last  the  guest  took  courage  to 
observe,  that  he  could  not  -think  what  made  him  so 
drowsy  that  evening  unless  it  vras  the  Avind  being  in  the 
south-east.  '^  My  very  dear  sir,"  returned  the  host  with 
rapture,  ^'  the  south-east  wind  has  the  very  same  effect  in 
my  case.  Kow,  if  you  like  just  to  take  a  little  nap,  don't 
mind  ?/ie."  In  half  a  minute  after  this  most  satisfactory 
explanation,  the  happy  pair  were  snoring  like  a  couple 
of  grampuses ;  and  I  had  finished  the  second  bottle  of 
port  and  all  the  walnuts  before  they  woke  up,  and  simul- 
taneously exclaimed  "that  they  did  not  know  when  they 
had  last  done  such  a  thing  as  to  go  to  sleep  after  dinner 
— certainly  not  for  years." 

In  the  case  of  the  Principal  of  Minim  Hall,  we  have 
seen  that  the  presence  of  his  freshman  did  not  in  the  least 
deter  him  fi'om  his  post-prandial  slumber;  he  had  mut- 
tered some  indistinct  apology  with  "unusually  fatigued" 
in  it,  and  gone  off  like  a  lamb,  having  decently  covered 
his  face  with  a  napkin.  But  upon  the  next  evening 
there  was  no  such  luck  for  Dr.  Hermann.  M.  de  Lernay 
was  not  a  man  to  be  affected  by  the  south-east  wind,  nor 
to  make  allowance  for  people  who  vrere  affected  by  it ;  he 
was  a  wit,  he  was  a  raconteur ;  he  had  had  the  most 
extraordinary  experiences  of  men,  and,  indeed,  of  women 


\i  < '     -  1  i.  i    i.     I'  ..     I.  1.  r;  >.  A  \  .  i'-'A 

also,  and  he  wit^  not  Ijac-kward  hi  relating  them.  He 
spoke  English  excellently  well,  with  only  just  so  much 
of  accent  as  gave  to  his  remarks  a  sort  of  ]>iquant  sim- 
plicity that  was  irresistible.  Mr.  Frederick  Galton  found 
such  a  pleasure  in  listening  to  him  as  he  had  not  imagined 
his  desolated  existence  could  be  capable  of  entertaining. 
He  was  charmed  out  of  himself  and  his  grief,  held  by  the 
glittering  eye  and  facile  tongue  cf  the  French  nobleman. 
M.  de  Lernay  was  of  the  blood  of  Clovis,  that  was  cer- 
tain. Frederick  did  not  quite  know  how  he  had  become 
awareof  this  circumstance;  whether  it  had  been  cursorily 
alluded  to  by  M.  de  Lernay  himself,  or  stated  in  a  con- 
fidential aside  by  Dr.  Hermann  ;  but  he  wotdd  have  made 
affidavit  of  the  fact  with  cheerftil  promptitude.  There 
was  an  affectionate  candor  about  the  Frenchman  which 
could  not  be  resisted ;  the  confidences  of  a  youth  of 
Frederick's  own  age  could  not  have  been  more  natural 
than  were  those  of  his  new  acquaintance;  nor  his  light- 
heartedness  more  unaifected  and  complete  if  he  had  been 
in  years  the  undergraduate  of  xi  year's  standing,  which  he 
was  in  the  books  of  the  college.  And  yet  M.  de  Lernay 
must  have  been — forty,  fifty,  sixty — it  was  impossible  to 
say  what  age.  Forty,  to  judge  by  his  appearance;  sixty 
and  more  when  you  listened  to  his  personal  experiences. 
He  could  recall  the  entrance  of  his  beloved  master,  Louis 
XVIIL,  into  Paris.  He  pictured  the  pale  Duchess 
d'Angouleme  sitting  by  that  monarch's  side,  but  untri- 
umphant,  sick  with  the  memories  of  the  past — her  own 
long  imprisonment,  and  the  murder  of  her  unhappy 
mother — in  a  manner  that  well-nigh  affected  the  Principal 
of  Minim  Hall  to  tears;  how  much  more,  then,  the  im- 
pressionable Frederick  !  AVith  the  Count  d'Artois — 
afterwards  Charles  X. — ]M.  de  Lernay  had  been  hand 
and  glove;  he  spoke  of  him  as  Clarendon  might  have 
discoursed  of  his  royal  master.  The  topic  of  courts 
seemed  to  elevate  his  style  above  that  of  a  mere  narrator. 
Once  only  did  he  give  any  sign  of  the  mere  partisan ; 
the   young   man   had  asked   some  question   relative  to 


132  MAEIJIEL>      BE^'EATH      HIM. 

Louis  Philippe,  and  a  scowl  came  clown  upon  the 
Frenchman's  smiling  face  like  a  thunder-cloud  in  a  sum- 
mer sky. 

It  was  not  easy  to  excite  the  interest  of  the  Principal 
of  Minim  Hall,  whose  thoughts,  naturally  sluggish,  were 
generally  pre-occupied  with  the  sense  of  his  own  im- 
portance ;  but  he  paid  tribute,  in  "  the  hushed  amaze  of 
hand  and  eye,"  to  the  conversational  powers  of  his  alien 
guest.  He  had  been  accustomed  for  so  many  years  to 
the  talk  of  men  of  his  own  calibre,  most  potent,  grave, 
and  reverend  seniors  of  the  university,  that  he  was  taken 
by  storm  by  the  brilliancy  and  vigor  of  this  man,  who, 
compared  to  those  natures,  was  as  an  electric  eel  to  carp, 
or  rather,  perhaps,  to  those  lethargic  gold-fish,  which 
circumnavigate  their  little  globe  of  glass  so  unremittingly 
under  the  impression  that  that  is  the  world. 

Even  Mrs.  Hermann  herself  wore  a  look  of  satisfac- 
tion, as  though  she  felt  that  M.  de  Lernay  was  honorably 
liquidating  his  dinner  obligations;  and  ever  and  anon  she 
turned  a  triumphant  eye  to  Frederick,  as  though  she 
would  have  said :  ^^  What  a  treat  is  this  that  has  thus 
been  gratuitously  provided  for  you  ! '' 

The  fifth  person  present  at  that  table  was  not  behind 
the  rest  in  acknowledging  the  enchanter's  power.  Miss 
de  Lernay  listened  to  her  father  with  an  attentive  interest, 
such  as  a  British  Paterfamilias  can  seldom,  indeed,  obtain 
for  his  twice-told  tales,  from  the  members  of  his  family. 
She  must  have  heard  some  of  them  before;  his  stock  of 
recollections  couW  not  possibly  have  been  inexhaustible 
and  ever  new.  He  could  not  have  improvised  his  stories, 
and  spun  them  spider-like — to  use  Mr.  Jonathan  John- 
son's metaphor — out  of  his  own  interior;  no  literary 
stomach,  not  even  that  of  the  prolific  Mr.  Sala — could 
have  stood  it.  Yet  there  she  sat,  rapt  in  the  ])aternal 
reminiscences,  as  though  they  had  never  met  her  ear 
before.  Her  face,  naturally  very  pale,  v>-as  tinged  with 
the  rose,  her  hazel  eye  aglow  with  excitement — the  very 
picture   of   beauty    enthralled.     Mr.    Frederick    Galton 


M  U  S  ^  i  El   li      D  1.      L  E  U  .N  A  \  .  133 

observed  that  she  was  beantifuj,  and  that  was  all.  The 
chamber  of  the  lieart  in  which  we  keep  the  lovely  images 
of  the  softer  sex  was,  in  his  case,  entirely  pre-occupied  by 
a  very  different,  although,  perhaps,  no  less  exquisite 
creature.  The  English  primrose  is  a  flower  that  may 
W'cll  hold  its  own,  even  when  compared  with  the  lily  of 
France. 

M.  de  Lernay  was  not  displeased  that  the  loveliness  of 
his  daughter  was  unable  to  distract  the  young  man's 
attention  from  his  own  conversation.  He  took  it  as  a 
great  compliment  to  his  genius.  He  did  not  know^  that 
the  affections  of  the  youth  were  pre-engaged,  nor,  if  lie 
had  been  told,  would  he  have  believed  that  such  a  cir- 
cumstance could  have  greatly  altered  the  matter.  The 
French  courtier  did  not  put  faith  in  the  fidelity  of  the 
young.  He  had  not,  perhaps,  a  great  deal  of  faith  in 
anything — except  in  M.  Lernay ;  although  this  was  by 
no  means  offensively  conspicuous.  He  paid  every  defer- 
ence  to  the  prejudices  of  the  Doctor  of  Divinity,  and  the 
presumed  innocence  of  the  juvenile  Frederick.  He  had 
the  faculty  of  becoming  instinctively  aware  of  the  opin- 
ions of  those  among  whom  he  found  himself)  and  how- 
ever opposite  to  these  his  own  might  be,  they  were  never 
suffered  to  clash  with  them.  If  he  had  chanced  to  meet 
with  an  advocate  of  cannibalism,  he  would  probably  have 
detected  some  common  ground  of  agreement  in  taste,  and 
certainly  evolved  many  original,  and  therefore  valuable 
facts,  to  form  the  raw  material  for  future  conversation. 
When  he  discovered  that  Mr.  Frederick  Galton  enter- 
tained Republican  sentiments — which  he  himself  detested 
infinitely  more  than  cannibalism — he  had  nothing  more 
severe  to  remark  than  that  he  hnd  never  yet  met  any 
young  man  of  really  great  promise  who  did  not  lean  to- 
wards democracy.  It  was  the  divine  yearning  of  youth, 
as  yet  untrammelled  by  conventionalities,  after  universal 
goodwill. 

"  Well,  I  was  a  Tory  myself,"  observed  the  doctor, 
^'  from  the  first  moment  that  I  beo^an  to  think  at  all." 


io4  .\1  A  a  HIED      i;  i:  js  K  A  i  H      H  i  .\1  , 

For  one  instant  there  flashed  across  the  Frenchman's 
face  a  gleam  of  cynical  hanior^  that  made  itself  reflected 
in  the  face  of  Frederick;  and  this  completed  his  victory 
over  the  young  man,  who  keenly  felt  the  compliment  of 
being  credited  with  a  more  lively  intelligence  than  the 
Principal  of  Minim  Hall.  Then  M.  de  Lernay  gravely 
explained,  that  in  the  particular  case  of  Dr.  Hermann's 
youth,  which  could  not,  of  course,  have  been  otherwise 
than  promising,  early  study  had  enabled  him  to  draw 
solid  historical  deductions,  while  other  young  folks  were 
building  theirs  with  unstocked  brains. 

There  was  a  rustle  of  silk,  and  the  ladies  rose  to  depart. 
As  Frederick  opened  the  door  for  them,  he  read  in  the 
smileless  bow  of  the  younger  that  there  was  a  third  per- 
son aware  of  the  sarcasm  passed  upon  the  doctor,  and 
that  she  did  not  admire  the  supple  readiness  with  which 
he  had  enlisted  himself  against  his  host.  There  are  few 
faces  which  can  exhibit  at  a  glance  reproof,  contempt, 
and  disappointment  for  the  shortcomings  of  one  of  whom 
we  have  formed  a  better  opinion,  but  Frederick  Galton 
could  read  all  these  in  that  one  look  of  Eugenie  de  Ler- 
nay. The  color  flew  to  his  cheek,  as  it  will  do  with  the 
knowledge  of  having  committed  a  baseness,  in  those  who 
are  not  used  to  such  things;  and  it  was  a  comfort  to  him 
to  see  that  she  perceived  it,  and  was  already  sorry  for  the 
necessity  that  had  thus  brought  blood  upon  a  skin  so 
sensitively  tender. 

It  was  strange  that  so  devoted  a  daughter  should  have 
been  the  case  of  depreciation  of  her  parent ;  but  from 
tliat  moment  Frederick  began  to  regard  M.  de  Lernay 
with  considerably  less  admiration.  Hazel  was  a  fine 
color — although  not,  indeed,  so  tender  as  blue — and  of 
what  a  depth  of  expression  was  it  capable !  Mary  Per- 
ling's  eyes  could  never  have  shot  forth  such  a  glance  as 
that;  though,  indeed,  why  should  they? — the  dear  eyes 
that  were  only  intended  to  give  him  love  for  love. 

Mons.  de  Lernay,  as  though  he  had  divined  these 
thoughts,  fell  to  talking  of  feminine  beauty.    Fie  politely 


M  O  N  b  I  E  U  ft      D  E      L  E  R  S  A  Y  .  135 

maintained  that,  charming  as  were  the  ladies  of  his  own 
land,  there  was  more  true  beauty  in  England  than  in 
France. 

"  We  have  Miss  de  Lernay  in  England,  now,"  observed 
the  doctor,  gallantly,  "so  that  the  balance-at present  may 
very  well  be  on  our  side.'' 

"  I  have  never  been  abroad,"  replied  Frederick,  "  but 
I  have  always- understood  that  for  i)eauty  the  Spanish 
ladies  bore  away  the  bell  from  all.  I  have  seen  gipsies 
at  fairs  and  feasts  in  our  own  county,  who,  but  for  a  lack 
of  refinement,  would  be  the  most  beautiful  creatures  I 
can  imagine;  and  are  not  Spaniards  a  sort  of  refined 
gipsies  ?  " 

"  They  are  all  alike,'^  returned  the  other,  contem2)tu- 
ously.  "Among  a  score  of  Spanish  women  a  Spaniard 
could  scarcely  recognize  his  own  wife — a  fact  which 
should  be  some  extenuation  for  the  reputed  looseness  of 
morals  in  the  Peninsula.  All  conventional  notions  of 
foreign  female  beauty — and  I  have  had  some  little  experi- 
ence," grinned  the  Frenchman — "I  believe  to  be  quite 
false  and  ill-founded." 

"  But  surely,"  urged  Frederick,  laughing,  "  I  am  to 
take  for  granted  what  my  '  Pinnock's  Geography'  tells 
me,  and  in  which  all  rudimentary  ethnological  authori- 
ties agree,  that  Circassia  contains  the  loveliest  of  the  sex, 
and  Constantinople — " 

For  the  second  time  that  evening,  a  scowl  came  over 
the  Frenchman's  face  that  was  terrible  to  look  upon,  and 
the  young  man  stopped  involuntarily ;  at  the  same  time, 
the  heel  of  the  doctor,  at  whose  left  hand  he  sat,  came 
down  upon  his  foot  with  unmistakable  energy.  A  stupid 
youth  would  have  halloed  out :  ''  Don't  kick  me,  T)r. 
Hermann  I "  a  shy  one  would  have  remained  speechless, 
under  the  consciousness  of  having  somehow  committed 
himself  beyond  redemption ;  but  Frederick  contrived  to 
conclude  his  sentence  carelessly  enough  with  the  remark, 
that  "to  whatever  nation  they  might  belong,  admiration 
was  probably  equally  acceptable  to  all  females." 


136  MAERIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

"Xot  only  acceptable,  but  necessary  and  essential  to 
their  happiness/'  observed  M.  de  Lernay.  ^^  Even  when 
it,  would  seem  to  be  a  totally  hopeless  undertaking  to  bid 
for  the  favor  of  man,  a  woman  never  despairs.  I  will 
tell  you  of  a  very  curious  example  of  this,  which  came 
under  my  own  knowledge  when  I  was  a  young  student 
in  Paris.  At  that  period,  masks  were  very  much  in 
fashion,  and  not  only  was  this  the  case  at  public  enter- 
tainments, but  even  at  private  houses  it  was  usual  to  give 
masked  balls.  The  greatest  vigilance  had,  of  course,  to 
be  exercised  on  entrance,  where  each  person  was  com- 
pelled to  show  his  or  her  card  of  invitation,  and  also  to 
write  down  their  names;  but  the  respectability  of  the 
company  being  thus  assured,  such  parties  had  certainly  a 
greater  piquancy  than  those  at  which  you  knew  every- 
body at  first  sight.  Great  cleverness  was  often  exhibited 
in  concealing  one's  identity,  and  detecting  that  of  others; 
while,  in  the  case  of  strangers,  it  was  not  unusual  for  a 
couple  who  had  made  themselves  very  agreeable  to  one 
another,  to  unmask,  that  each  might  become  acquainted 
with  the  features  of  so  charming  a  partner.  This  was, 
of  course,  effected  in  some  secluded  corner,  or  behind  a 
pillar ;  and  it  was  understood  that  if  the  parties  should 
meet  on  any  future  occasion,  it  should  rest  with  the  lady 
to  make  recognition  of  the  gentleman,  or  not,  as  she 
pleased.  These  disclosures  were  in  rare  instances  not  a 
little  disappointing ;  but  I  am  thankful  to  say  that  in 
my  youth  I  possessed  a  sort  of  instinct  for  beauty  which 
never  led  me  to  throw  away  my  attention  upon  objects 
that  were  unworthy  of  it,  except  in  one  remarkable 
instance. 

"  I  had  met  a  certain  blue  velvet  mask  at  least  half-a- 
dozen  times,  and  had  always  found  her  particularly 
lively  and  agreeable.  She  had  a  ringing  musical  laugh, 
which  thrilled  through  me  like  the  song  of  a  bird,  and 
certified  at  least,  that  my  unknown  partner  was  young 
and  light-hearted.  I  knew,  too,  she  must  be  well-con- 
nected, since  I  met  her  at  the  best  houses  in  ray  visiting- 


MONSIEUR     D  E     L  E  R  X  A  Y .  13? 

list,  and  it  was  not  so  easy  to  go  everywhere  in  Paris  as 
it  is  now.  She  danced  most  exquisitely,  and  had  evi- 
dently the  nicest  ear  for  music.  But  the  provoking 
part  of  her  was,  that  I  could  not  get  her  to  unmask. 
Upon  my  second  meeting,  I  had  indiscreetly  gone  the 
length  of  unmasking  myself;  but,  although  I  had  no 
reason  to  imagine  that  she  was  otherwise  than  pleased 
(for,  alas !  I  was  as  well  favored  as  is  this  young  gentle- 
man here,  in  those  days),  she  would  by  no  means  recip- 
rocate the  compliment.  I  do  not  say  that  I  was  in  love 
with  one  whom  I  had  never  seen,  but  I  was  greatly 
piqued  at  her  obstinacy,  which  caused  me  to  devote  my- 
self to  her  all  the  more.  One  evening,  at  the  hotel  of 
the  S|>flnish  ambassador,  the  sprightliness  and  wit  of  my 
incognita  were  more  irresistible  than  ever.  AVe  had  got 
to  talk  of  all  kinds  of  subjects  by  this  time,  and  even  to 
continue  a  conversation  at  the  point  at  which  we  left  it 
off  at  our  last  meeting. 

"Her  information  was  deep  and  various,  considering 
her  tender  years,  which  I  was  convinced — and  rightly, 
as  it  turned  out — could  not  much  exceed  seventeen,  and 
her  judgment  singularly  logical.  Upon  this  occasion, 
she  well  nigh  drove  me  mad,  because  she  would  not  con- 
descend to  show  the  reality  of  that  countenance,  about 
which  I  had  made  so  many  rapturous  guesses.  In  the 
end,  we  quarrelled  about  it.  I  had  the  madness  to  pro- 
test, upon  the  word  of  a  gentleman,  that  I  would  never 
speak  to  her  again  after  that  night,  if  she  did  not 
unmask.  I  could  see  that  this  affected  her  powerfully, 
and  therefore  I  repeated  the  threat  with  even  greater 
emphasis. 

"^Then,^  replied  she,  with  an  inexpressible  melan- 
clioly ;  ^  we  shall  never  converse  again,  for  I  have  sworn 
to  mvself  that  you  shall  never  look  upon  my  face.' 

"  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  her  determination,  and  I 
was  exceedingly  sorry  that  my  importunity  had  brought 
matters  to  such  a  crisis.  ^  Stay,'  cried  I ;  ^  I  vowed  I 
would  never  speak  to  you  again  if  you  did  not  unmask ; 


138  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

I  did  not  say,,  unless  I  saw  your  face.  You  can  turn 
your  back  to  me,  and  uncover  your  features  without  my 
seeing  them,  and  thus  both  our  resolves  will  be  kept,  and 
yet  we  shall  not  lose  each  other's  society,  w^hich  in  my 
case  (for  men  were  polite  in  those  days)  would  be  equiva- 
lent to  a  death  doom.' 

^^  AYe  were  quite  alone  when  I  spoke  this.  She  stepped 
from  me  some  ten  paces,  so  that  I  could  not  have  secured 
her  domino,  had  I  intended  such  a  breach  of  good  man- 
ners, turned  her  back  to  me,  and  unmasked.  I  thought  I 
should  have  swooned  upon  the  spot.  Luckily  my  ow^n 
mask  was  on,  which  prevented  my  features  from  ex- 
hibiting the  disgust  at  what  I  beheld,  and  which  it  was 
impossible  they  could  have  concealed. 

^'  I  had  made  my  proposition  to  the  poor  girl  because 
there  was  an  immense  mirror  at  the  end  of  the  apart- 
ment, which,  as  she  had  her  back  to  it  while  she  spoke, 
she  had  not  herself  perceived.  I  foresaw  that  I  should 
see  the  reflection  of  her  countenance  quite  clearly,  and, 
ah  Heaven  !  I  did.  It  is  unnecessary  to  shock  you  with 
the  description  of  what  was,  indeed,  most  horrible.  She 
replaced  her  mask,  and  turned  towards  me,  and  then, 
although  I  did  not  speak,  or  betray  myself  in  any  way,  as 
I  thought,  and  though,  as  I  have  said,  I  was  masked,  she 
perceived  that  I  knew 'her  secret,  and  dropped  insensible 
on  the  floor.  A  crowd  of  course  collected  :  but  I  would 
not  suffer  any  one  to  remove  her  domino ;  and  presently 
two  ladies,  who  were  her  relations,  came  up,  and  taking 
her  into  their  charge,  carried  her  off  from  the  ball." 

'"But  what  was  the  matter?"  inquired  the  Principal 
and  the  Freshman  in  the  same  breath. 

"  The  poor  girl's  countenance  was  such  as  your  poet 
Moore  describes  as  belonging  to  the  false  prophet  Mo- 
kanna;  and  I  really  felt  exceedingly  like  Zelica  when 
she  took  her  first  look  at  it.  I  afterwards  learnt  her 
history.  Her  countenance  had  been  mutilated  by  some 
terrible  disease,  which  had  attacked  her  almost  in  infancy, 
and  she  had   undergone  with  marvellous  fortitude  the 


MOXSIEUE      DE     L  E  R  X  A  Y.  139 

most  frightful  opemtions,  with  scarcely  any  benefit.  At 
eleven  years  of  age  it  was  impossible  that  she  could 
appear  in  public  except  masked,  and  yet  she  had  the 
greatest  longing  for  society  and  amusements  of  all  kinds. 
She  had  taught  herself  drawing  by  watching,  through  a 
glass  door,  the  lessons  imparted  to  her  sisters.  The  love 
of  admiration  in  women  could  scarcely  be  more  power- 
fully illustrated  than  in  the  case  of  this  unhappy  girl." 

"And  what  became  of  the  poor  young  creature  eventu- 
ally?" inquired  Frederick. 

"  She  died,  sir :  she  danced  no  more ;  she  was  con- 
sumed, I  fear,  by  a  hopeless  passion  for  myself,"  replied 
the  Frenchman,  sighing. — "  What  Madeira  is  this.  Dr. 
Hermann  ?  It  is  a  xnne  we  seldom  get  in  such  perfec- 
tion in  France." 

As  is  the  case  with  most  great  conversationalists,  there 
was  a  secret  chamber  in  M.  de  Lernay's  mind,  from  which 
he  delighted  to  bring  forth  hideous  skeletons,  and  dangle 
them  in  chains  before  his  terrified  but  entranced  little 
audiences.  The  door  being  once  opened  for  the  above 
recital,  a  troop  of  other  horrors  followed  upon  its  heels, 
and  all  professing  to  be  part  of  the  personal  experience 
of  the  narrator  himself.  This  is  perhaps — singular  as  it 
may  apjiear  to  ladies — the  most  seductive  sort  of  after- 
dinner  talk ;  for  all  of  us  males,  no  matter  what  our 
other  tastes  may  be,  entertain  a  liking  for  such  subjects, 
and  are  very  ready  to  believe  that  life  is  not,  after  all,  so 
commonplace  a  matter  as  it  seems,  but  that  tragedy  is  to 
be  found  everywhere,  even  in  omnibuses — as  in  the  late 
Mr.  Greenacre's  case,  who  carried  his  wife's  head  in  a 
handkerchief  for  a  considerable  distance,  in  one  of  those 
public  conveyances. 

So  enthralling  did  M.  de  Lernay  prove,  in  the  capacity 
of  Shocking  Story-teller,  that  Euphemia  sent  in  twice, 
in  vain,  to  let  the  gentlemen  know  that  tea  was  awaiting 
them  in  the  drawing-room  :  the  third  summons  being 
imperative,  and  having  something  of  the  nature  of  an 
ultimatum,  was  reluctantlv  obeved. 


140  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE   YOUXG   SQUIRE. 

OF  the  four  hundred  and  odd  young  gentlemen  who 
roatriculate  at  Camford  yearly,  I  wonder  what 
proportion  expect  to  distinguish  themselves  in  the  eyes 
of  Alma  Mater.  AYe  know  by  the  university  calendar 
that  ab'out  one-third  of  these  attain  what  are  believed  by 
their  friends  to  be  mathematical  and  chissical  honors. 
But  what,  after  all,  is  a  junior  op.  in  the  former  list,  or  a 
third-elms  in  the  latter  ?  In  the  eyes  of  the  Master  of 
St.  Boniface,  we  know,  "  it  is  only  to  have  escaped  dis- 
grace;'^ and  indeed  they  are  not  exalted  positions,  save 
in  the  opinion  of  mothers,  sisters,  and  beloved  objects. 
One  or  two  hard  readers  may  sometimes  slip  down  into 
those  lower  regions  by  accident,  as  one  or  two  great 
geniuses  may  be  found  elevated  into  them — rapt  into  the 
honor  list,  almost  contrary  to  their  own  expectations — 
but  upon  the  whole,  we  must  hold  the  couipany  there  to 
be  but  mediocre.  Confining  success,  therefore,  to  the  first 
classes  iii  each/department,  it  may  be  calculated  that  not 
more  than  one-fifth  of  the  men  who  come  up  to  Camford 
do  credit  to  theniselves  in  the  great  university  fight,  and 
satisfy  their  backers.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however, 
that  the  remaining  fotir-fifths  are  disappointed  men. 
The  majority  of  tliese  never  intended  to  read  for  honors 
at  all ;  some,  because  they  are  aware  that  Providence  has 
put  the  temptation  of  being  unduly  elevated  by  intellec- 
tual distinctions  out  of  their  power,  and  others  for  want 
of  any  ambition  whatever  in  that  direction.  All  these 
are  well  content  with  '^the  poll,'' or  ordihary  degree. 
A  few  have  not  even  the  humble  goal  of  becoming  a 
Bachelor  of  Arts  in  view. 

Lord  Fitzperiwinkle  and  his  noble  friends,  on  their 
arrival  at  college,  behold  a  couple  of  university  vears 


THE     YOUXG     SQUIRE.  141 

before  them  andimmed  hv  a  single  cloud  in  the  way  of 
examinations.  Camford  demands  of  them  ''  no  little  go/' 
being  content  with  the  warrant  of  their  splendid  lineage. 
After  nourishing  them  in  her  bosom  for  seven  terms,  she 
will  make  their  final  exit  as  easy  for  them  as  possible, 
and  dub  them  Masters  of  Arts  upon  the  spot,  to  which 
title  those  of  meaner  birth  cannot  attain  under  three 
times  that  period.  Their  lordships,  therefore,  need  have 
little  in  view  beyond  the  vista  of  enjoyment.  Young 
Limpet,  again,  the  sporting  fishmonger's  son,  has  little 
in  view  but  their  lordships  themselves.  He  came  up  to 
Camford  for  a  degree  indeed,  but  it  is  neither  that  of 
Bachelor  nor  of  Master,  and  far  less  that  of  Doctor  of 
Divinity ;  it  is  the  degree  Social  which  he  is  in  quest  of. 
He  wishes  to  rub  off  his  fishmonger's  scales  by  contact 
with  Fitzperiwinkle  and  the  rest  of  them.  His  natural 
inclination  for  this  course  of  conduct  is  strengthened  by 
the  paternal  admonition.  Limpet,  senior  (in  whose  eye 
money  has  still  some  value,  although  it  is  popularly  said 
to  be  ^'no  object"  to  himi,  has  paid  double  entrance-fees 
for  the  lad,  and  is  prepared  to  pay  double  everything 
throughout  his  university  career,  in  order  that  he  may 
have  greater  opportunities  for  cultivating  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  nobility.  He  enters  Limpet,  junior,  as  a 
fellow-commoner,  buys  a  gown  for  him,  wonderful  to 
behold,  blue,  and  bespangled  with  stars  like  the  firma- 
ment itself,  and  a  cap  that  is  appropriate  to  the  same. 
More  fishmongers,  grocers,  tailors,  and  other  respectable 
persons  do  the  like. 

Some  have  not  chosen  to  invest  so  large  a  capital  in 
their  offspring,  but  have  entered  them  as  pensioners  only, 
as  mere  country  gentlemen,  clergymen,  and  others  are  con- 
tent to  do  ;  in  which  case  they  cannot,  of  course,  look  for 
such  satisfactory  returns.  But  the  object  of  the  majority 
of  this  class  is  the  same — namely,  the  fornn'ng  of  what 
they  call  a  " fashionable  connection" — a  phrase  taken 
directly  out  of  their  annual  circulars.  Another  set  of 
freshmen,  who  have  no  ulterior  views  connected  with  the 


142  MARRIED     B  E  >:  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

senate-house,  are  wealthy  scapegraces,  whom  their  par- 
ents or  guardians  know  not  what  to  do  with,  but  send 
them  up  to  Camford,  as  being  upon  the  whole  the  safest 
place  for  their  vagaries — the  softest  spot  that  can  be 
selected  for  the  catastrophe,  when  the  expected  overturn 
does  take  place. 

A  few  young  lunatics,  who  desire  to  embrace  some 
calling,  such  as  literature,  or  going  to  sea,  of  which  they 
will  perceive  the  absurdity  in  a  year  or  two,  are  sent  up 
to  the  university  for  the  purj^ose  of  distracting  their 
thoughts.  And  to  these  must  be  added  one  or  two  who, 
like  Mr.  Frederick  Gal  ton,  have  fixed  th^^ir  immature  af- 
fections upon  some  ineligible  female,  the  recollection  of 
whom  it  is  hoped  that  Alma  Mater  will  eradicate. 

Finallv,  there  are  alwavs  some  vouno;  crentlemen  of 
good  family  and  position,  whom  nature  has  nevertheless 
persistently  attached  to  rat-catching  and  other  ignoble 
pursuits  of  the  like  nature,  and  who  are  consigned  to  the 
university  in  order  to  accpiire  a  ^'gentlemanly  tone;'^  and 
to  this  class,  in  the  year  of  which  we  write,  iNIr.  John 
Meyrick,  junior,  of  the  Grange,  Casterton,  Downshire, 
most  unquestionably  belonged.  Although  a  year  older 
than  his  companion  Frederick,  young  Meyrick  was  still 
a  schoolboy  in  mind  and  behavior,  and  by  no  means  in 
a  very  smooth  condition  for  receiving  Camford  polish. 
He  was  dictatorial,  bearish,  and  obstinate;  he  shrank 
from  the  society  of  his  ecpials  in  birth,  because  he  knew 
that  they  would  in  all  other  respects  be  his  superiors. 
However,  ^Ir.  Meyrick,  senior,  might  affect  to  despise 
Frederick  Galton,  he  was  not  unaware  of  the  humanizing 
influence  ^vhich  that  young  gentleman  had  hitherto  exer- 
cised upon  his  son.  He  had  long  made  up  his  mind  that 
when  the  former  went  to  college  the  latter  should  accom- 
pany him;  and  certain  circumstances  which  had  occurred 
subsequent  to  Frederick's  departure  had  caused  the  squire 
to  put  his  determination  into  immediate  effect. 

Ko  sooner  had  the  doctor's  son  been  despatched  to 
Minim  Hall  than  his  late  companion  at  Casterton  began 


THE     YOUXG     SQUIEE.  143 

to  experience  an  insupportable  ennui.  His  horse  re- 
mained idly  in  the  stall,  for  he  had  nobody  to  ride  races 
with  him  on  the  Downs,  and  his  coursing-matches  had 
lust  half  their  interest,  now  that  he  could  not  exhibit  his 
superior  sagacity — for  Bill  and  Bob  unhappily  knew 
much  more  upon  the  subject  than  he  did. 

This  is  a  drawback  incidental  to  all  amateur  sporting : 
a  gentleman  jock  may  have  an  excellent  seat,  but  never 
so'good  a  one  as  the  professional.  The  best  rider  in  the 
hunting-field  is  generally  the  one  that  is  there  to  sell  his 
horse.  The  lord  of  the  manor  may  be  a  good  shot,  but 
his  keeper  is  a  better,  although  he  may  be  too  judicious 
to  disclose  the  fact ;  while  as  for  the  scientific  fisherman^ 
with  his  pocket-book  full  of  supernaturally  attractive 
flies,  there's  not  a  poacher,  in  the  stream  he  whips  with 
his  thirty-guinea  rod,  but  can  catch,  with  an  original  out- 
lav  of  five  shillings,  two  fish  for  his  one. 

'Still,  Bill  and  Bob  were  all  that  were  now  left  to  the 
voung  gentleman,  and  he  was  inseparable  fi'om  one  or 
other  of  them  all  day. 

In  the  evening,  too,  he  fled  from  the  drawing-room  of 
the  Grange,  and  sought  them  in  the  saddle-room.  It 
seemed  better  to  him  there  to  reign  than  to  serve,  or  at 
least  to  i)lay  second  fiddle  to  papa,  in  the  more  gorgeous 
apartment. 

From  the  saddle-room  there  was  generally  an  adjourn- 
ment to  the  JleyncJ:  Anns.  Our  "Tony  Lumpkin  was 
unfortunate  in  this  his  favorite  house  of  entertainment, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  a  very  sorry  one.  If  the  wicked 
Buckingham  had  ended  his  days'at  Casterton,  the  bitter 
lines  in  wdiich  his  memory  is  chiefly  preserved  could 
scarcely  have  been  written.*  "  In  the  worst  inn's  worst 
room,"'  would  have  been  a  worse  exaggeration  even  than 
it  reallv  is,  for  there  is  but  one  inn  in  the  village,  and 
that  had  but  one  room  in  it.  In  that  apartment,  how- 
ever, assembled  the  chief  "  spirits  "  of  the  neighborhood, 
who  had  generally  spent  the  day  in  the  dry  skittle-alley 
attached  to   the   premises.     The  convei^sation    may  not 


144  Married    beneath    him. 

have  been  edifying,  but  it  was  not  dis})] easing  to  the 
young  squire — -no,  not  even  when  it  happened  to  have 
for  its  topic  that  little  love-episode  between  his  friend 
and  Miss  Mary  Perling. 

If  the  wdly  curate  really  intended  to  keep  that  matter 
quiet,  he  must  have  been  sanguine  intleed;  and  we  may 
well  imagine,  without  it  being  described,  how  tenderly 
the  "spirits"  touched  upon  an  event  so  roniantic. 

The  distance  between  the  Grange  and  tiie  Meyriek 
Arms  was  considerable ;  in  going  to  the  latter  place,  the 
neaper  way  was  unquestionably  across  the  fields  at  the 
back  of  the  mansion ;  but  in  returning,  the  village  street 
was  found  to  possess  that  advantage.  This  curious  cir- 
cumstance arose  from  the  fact  that  Mr.  John  Meyriek, 
junior,  w^as  wont  to  start  tolerably  sober,  "but  to  come 
back  more  or  less  intoxicated,  in  which  condition  the 
footway  over  the  fields,  being  narrow  and  winding,  was 
difficult  to  keep. 

On  one  particular  occasion  the  young  squire  and  Bob, 
tlie  stable  "help,"  had  imbibed  very  much  more  than 
was  good  for  them.  They  had  drowned  in  the  flowing 
bowl  not  only  care,  but  commonest  prudence;  and  yet, 
despite  the  solemn  and  reiterated  w^arnings  of  their  boon- 
companion  Bill,  who,  being  aware  of  his  own  diagonal 
tendency,  kept  to  the  village  street,  they  attempted  to 
return  home  by  the  fields. 

The  night  was  not  dark,  but  the  ditches  were  many, 
and  the  lofty  stiles  all  leaned,  or  seemed  to  lean,  towards 
them,  so  that  their  advance  was  tardy  in  the  extreme ; 
moreover,  every  obstacle  was  set  down  by  each  as  having 
been  artfully  contrived  by  the  other,  and  not,  as  was  in 
truth  the  case,  by  the  arts  of  husbandry  and  irrigation. 

The  most  revengeful  and  malicious  feelings  were  thus 
naturally,  however  unreasonably,  excited  in  both  their 
breasts.  A  weighty  hedge-stake,  which  had  once  formed 
the  angle  of  a  sheepfold,  stuck  in  the  field  by  the  w-ay- 
side,  suggested  to  the  mind  of  Mr.  John  !Mey rick,  junior, 
who  was  walking  in  the  rear,  that  it  would  be  a  capital 


T  HE     Y  O  U  ^'  G     b  Q  U  I  Pv  E .  145 

Weapon  wherewith  to  avenge  himself  upon  his  enemy ; 
having,  therefore,  with  considerable  difficulty  pulled  it 
out  of  the  ground,  he  trailed  it  cunningly  behind  him, 
witii  the  intention,  when  he  should  get  near  enough,  of 
hitting  Bob  with  it,  as  hard  as  he  po.f.^ibly  could,  on  the 
back  of  his  head.  This  design,  though  ingeniously  con- 
ceived, he  had  not  the  intelligence  to  execute.  He  was 
unable,  upon  Bob's  unexpectedly  turning  round,  to  con- 
ceal this  monstrous  club  with  his  body,  or  to  throw  into 
his  countenance  such  an  air  of  careless  innocence  as  might 
have  dissipated  suspicion.  On  the  contrary,  the  formid- 
able stable-help  made  at  hira  furiously  at  once,  exclaim- 
ing: ^'Oh!  you  would,  would  you,  you  young  varmint?" 
and  did  so  beat  him,  then  and  there,  with  the  bludgeon 
that  had  been  provided  for  his  own  destruction,  that  he 
left  the  inci-pient  squire  battered  and  prone  on  the  turnip- 
field,  arriving  at  his  quarters  over  the  stables  an  hour  or 
tv.'o  later,  with  the  hedge-stake,  and  in  the  most  excellent 
spirits.  So  far,  however,  from  participating  in  his  tri- 
umph, William,  the  groom,  who  had  passed  the  time  since 
he  had  parted  with  his  young  master  in  no  little  anxiety, 
immediately  knocked  Bob  down,  locked  him  up  in  the 
coach-house  (where  he  lay  for  some  hours  under  the 
gravest  suspicions  of  having  committed  an  unnatural 
murder),  and  roused  the  house.  A  search  being  insti- 
tuted, ^Ir.  John  Meyrick,  junior,  was  discovered  upon  his 
back,  addressing  the  turnip-tops  in  a  humorous  but  dis- 
connected speech,  under  the  impression  that  he  was  still 
at  the  public-house  among  his  friends.  There  was  not 
much  physical  harm  done  after  all,  but  the  moral  shock 
communicated  to  the  Grange  was  very  considerable. 
Although  Mr.  Meyrick,  senior,  was,  considering  his 
social  position,  not  only  an  uneducated  but  an  absolutely 
illiterate  man,  his  family  pride  revolted  against  low  com^ 
pany.  Though  he  somewliat  shrank  from  the  society  of 
those  of  his  ov\'n  rank  and  large  possessions  in  the  countv, 
he  had  never  sought  that  of  his  inferiors,  and  there  had  al- 
ways been  a  proper  distance  observed  by  the  Bills  and  Bobs 

e 


146  MAKRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

of  his  youth.  Mrs.  Meyrick,  too,  although  she  could 
not  believe  that  her  son  had  ever  taken  an  over-abun- 
dance of  liquor  in  his  life,  and  opined  that  his  conduct 
upon  the  occasion  in  question  had  been  traduced  by 
calumniators,  and  his  precious  life  all  but  destroyed  by  a 
bloodthirsty  assassin,  still  perceived  that  the  sooner  dear- 
est John  should  associate  with  his  compeers,  the  nobility 
and  gentry  of  England,  at  the  university,  the  better. 
His  frankness,  his  freedom  from  pride,  and  the  charming 
sociality  of  his  disposition  would,  she  foresaw,  be  so 
many  sources  of  danger  to  him,  so  long  as  he  resided  at 
Casterton;  and,  both  the  higher  powers  being  thus 
agreed,  they  applied  to  Zslv.  Kobert  ^Morrit  for  the  lettre 
de  cachet  that  should  consign  their  offspring  to  the  clois- 
ter for  his  own  good. 

Within  a  very  short  period,  therefore.  Dr.  Hermann 
was  requested  to  receive  a  second  Freshman  in  a  by-term, 
and  Minim  Hail  began  to  assume  unwonted  proportions 
as  a  collegiate  institution.  There  were  now  no  less  than 
five  undergraduates  within  that  stately  pile,  if  we  include 
M.  de  Leniay,  who,  however,  as  v/e  have  said,  occupied 
a  house  in  the  town.  Mr.  Meyrick  brought  his  son  up 
two  or  three  days  before  the  term  began — as  soon  as  his 
youthful  frame,  in  fact,  had  recovered  itself  from  the 
punishment  of  the  stake — and  stayed  with  him  for  that 
space  at  Camford.  They  dined  with  the  hospitable 
Principal,  and  afterwards '  in  Hall  with  Frederick  and 
the  Frenchman,  who,  like  Orpheus,  could  charm  even 
stocks  and  stones,  and  delighted  them  accordingly. 

The  old  country  squire,. having  thus  placed  his  off- 
spring, as  he  thought,  in  polite  security,  was  in  a  humor 
to  be  pleased.  He  had  not  himself  been  a  university 
man,  and  therefore  felt  none  of  those  divine  regrets  that 
the  most  })rosaic  of  elderly  gentlemen  can  rarely  be  free 
from  who  brings  his  son  up  to  the  same  spot  wherein  he 
has  passed  his  own  iiot  youth.  Ah,  me,  what  memories 
throng  the  paternal  breast  in  such  a  case,  undreamed  of 
by  the  son  !     He  does  not  give  credit  to  the  "  governor/^ 


THE     YOUNG     SQUIRE.  147 

perhaps,  for  entertaining  sentimental  emotions  at  all ;  but, 
at  all  events,  it  is  quite  impossible  that  the  lad  should 
appreciate  them.  He  cannot  imagine,  as  he  perambulates 
the  town  with  his  father — the  one  in  his  bran-new 
academicals,  the  other  in  an  old  gown  hired  from  the 
tailor's  shop — why  the  old  gentleman  should  pause  at 
this  or  that  (to  him)  uninteresting  spot,  and  be  silent, 
and  not  hear  the  words  he  speaks  to  him. 

He  conceives  with  dutiful  sorrow  that  the  governor  is 
growing  deaf,  which  he  has  suspected  to  be  the  case  for 
some  time.  "  Xot  deaf,  my  boy,"  the  father  might  reply 
(only  that  he  is  a  great  deal  too  sensible  to  do  so),  "  not 
deaf;  but  listening  to  the  voices  of  the  dead,  and  to  the 
echoes  of  the  music  of  my  youth ;  for  I,  too,  have  been 
young,  although  you  cannot  picture  it,  and  have  had 
young  men  for  my  friends  in  this  same  dear  old  place  (as 
I  trust  you  may  have) ;  and  some  are  in  Heaven,  and 
some  are  still  upon  earth  ;  but  T\e  shall  never  be  friends 
together  again  as  we  were  here.''  Grace,  beauty,  youth, 
and  a  fashionable  apparel  are  uot  absolutely  essential  to 
the  possession  of  feelings  such  as  these.  There  is  often  a 
great  deal "  more  pathos  in  an  old  fogy  of  even  sixteen 
stone  than  his  nearest  relatives  have  any  idea  of.  He 
may  return  to  his  muttons  and  his  beeves,  to  his  freehold 
and  his  copyhold,  his  pasture  and  his  arable,  upon  the 
very  next  day,  having  seen  his  boy  bestowed,  perhaps,  in 
the  same  rooms,  wh.erein  he  himself  had  passed  the  three 
happiest  years  of  his  owji  existence  long,  long  ago ;  but 
that  visit  to  Camford,  while  it  lasted,  jerked  his  tough  old 
heart-strings  cruelly.  Mr.  Meyrick,  senior,  however,  as 
we  know,  had  long  ago  reached  sixteen  stone,  and  his 
sliadow  had  by  no  means  diminished  since ;  while,  had  it 
been  otherwise,  there  were  no  memories  to  jerk  his  heart- 
strings in  the  contemplation  of  Camford. 

"  You  are  two  lucky  young  fellows,  and  have  fallen  on 
your  feet  with  a  vengeance  here,"  said  the  stout  sc|uire,  as 
he  sipped  his  port  before  the  fire,  in  the  pleasant  dining- 
chamber  of  Minim  Hall.     'MYitli  this  good  gentleman 


148  M  A  R  R  I  E  D      E  E  2:  E  A  T  II      HI  ,M  . 

from  France  as  a  companion,  and  no  "svomeu  to  make 
mischief  among  ye — eh,  Master  Frederick,  eh  ! — you 
ought  to  be  as  happy  as  skyhirks ;  although,  indeed,  as 
respects  the  ladies,  when  I  have  had  my  wine,  and  feel 
inclined  for  a  snooze,  I  like  to  have  a  tune  or  two  upon 
the  piano  as  well  as  most  things." 

"  If  you,  my  dear  sir,  and  your  son,  will  honor  my 
humble  residence  with  your  company  this  evening,"  ob- 
served M.  de  Lernay,  vrarmly,  "  it  will,  I  am  sure,  give 
my  daughter  the  greatest  pleasure  to  play  for  you  such 
simple  airs  as  she  is  mistress  of.  I  do  not  ask  you,  Mr. 
Galton,  because  we  are  old  friends  already,  and  I  ho23e 
you  need  no  such  invitation." 

Frederick  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  as  he  replied 
that  he  felt  this  to  be  the  case ;  and,  turning  to  his  two 
friends,  explained  to  them  how,  coming  up  as  a  total 
stranger  to  that  almost  deserted  town,  he  had  already 
received  from  M.  de  Lernay  and  his  daughter  the  most 
kind  and  genial  hospitalities.  He  expressed  his  gratitude 
with  characteristic  enthusiasm,  but  really  without  at  all 
overstating  the  case.  ^  Xot  a  day  had  passed  since  he  had 
met  the  De  Lernays  at  the  Principal's  without  their  tak- 
ing compassion  on  liis  lonely  condition,  and  entertaining 
him  at  their  own  house.  He  had  very  Avillingly  taken 
advantage  of  this  kindness.  The  company  of  his  own 
thoughts  was  insup])ortable ;  not  only  had  he  no  one  in 
whom  to  confide  his  sorrows,  but  he  was  pledged  to 
abstain  from  putting  them  on  ])aper,  or  rather,  he  might 
Avrite  them — as,  indeed,  he  did,  in  every  variety  of  metre 
— but  only  for  his  own  eyes. 

Moved  by  the  excessive  grief  of  his  father  at  parting,  he 
had  made  a  voluntary  promise  that  he  would  not  write  to 
Mary  Perling  for  the  space  of  half  a  year;  and  he  had 
communicated  this  resolve  to  her  in  a  letter,  approved  of 
by  the  doctor  himself,  but  the  contents  of  which  had  been 
carefully  concealed  from  the  Rev.  Robert  Morrit. 

Mr.  Galton,  senior,  stood  in  terror  of  the  anathemas 
which  that  uncompromising  divine  would  have  certainly 


THE      Y  (J  U  N  «..      -  Q  U  1  r.  E  .  149 

hurled  against  him,  had  he  known  that  even  belligerent 
rights  had  been  ceded  to  the  young  woman  at  Old  borough  * 
He  would  have  ignored  her  very  existence.  To  such  an 
individual,  he  would  have  held  that  Mr.  Frederick  Gal- 
ton  could  not  have  written  a  letter  upon  equal  terms,  * 
either  six  months  hence,  or  after  cycles  of  ages. 

^^My  Dear  ^Iary, — An  event  that  we  feared  has 
come  to  pass.  My  good  father  says  that  I  sliall  forget 
you  in  six  months' time.  Do  you  think  that  possible? 
*Xo,  indeed.  Let  us  see,  however.  In  tliC  meantime,  I 
have  promised  not  to  write  to  you.  Ah  me,  what  years 
of  sorrow  I  have  already  seemed  to  endure  since  last  I 
saw  you  I     Yours  ever,  *        ''  Frederick  Galtox.^^ 

This  was  the  original  manuscript ;  but  the  doctor  had 
obtained  the  erasure  of  the  sentence  beginning  "Ah  me," 
etc.,  as  hyperbolical,  and  likely  to  produce  unnecessary 
anxiety,  the  period  of  absence,  calculated  by  the  ordinary 
measures  of  time,  being  exactly  four-and-thirty  hours. 

Under  these  unhapj^y  circumstances,  it  may  be  well 
imagined  how  grateful  to  Frederick  Galton  was  such 
societv  as  that  of  M.  de  Lernay  and  his  charming  daugh- 
ter. If  he  had  not  been  rendered  happy  under  their  roof, 
they  had  not,  at  least,  permitted  him  to  be  miserable. 
The  companionship  of  a  beautiful  girl,  accomplished  in 
all  the  arts  that  adorn  existence,  cannot  be  otherwise  than 
attractive  to  any  youth,  no  matter  how  solemnly  he  may 
be  engaged  to  another  young  female  at  a  distance.  Her 
conversation  was  only  less  agreeable  than  that  of  her 
father,  while  it  abounded  with  evidences  of  unartificial 
and  honest  feeling,  which  M.  de  Lernay  lacked.  In  his 
presence,  and,  indeed,  in  society  generally,  she  spoke  lit- 
tle ;  but  at  home,  and  upon  subjects  of  which  she  was 
mistress,  she  talked  readily  and  well.  Gleams  of  satirical 
wit,  reminding  her  hearers  of  her  parentage  as  forcibly  as 
any  likeness  of  feature  could  have  done,  flashed  forth 
occasionally  from  her  lips ;  but  her  ordinary  mood  was 


150  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

serious,  and  if  left  to  herself,  and,  as  she  thought,  unnoticed, 
a  keen  observer  might  perceive  her  mind  was  dwelling  on 
some  sorrow.  Frederick  Galton  was  not  so  preoccupied 
with  his  own  woes  but  that  liis  quick  eye  soon  discovered 
this,  and  the  knowledge  of  it  attracted  him  to  her  all  the' 
more.  She  wouhl  be  better  able,  having  some  sorrow  of 
her  own,  to  sj^iipathize  with  an  unhappy  wretch  such  as 
himself;  and  she  had  sympathized  with  him,  and  the 
wretch  had  accordingly  become  decidedly  less  unhappy. 
He  had  sat  beside  her  harp,  and,  like  another  David,  she 
had  for  a  time  enticed  the  spirit  of  melancholy  to  leave 
him.  She  had  told  him  fascinating  stories  of  foreign  life 
out  of  her  own  experience  (and  in  this  gift  of  narration 
she  was  more  like  her  father  than  in  anything),  and  he 
had  listened  as  a  boy  who  sits  at  the  feet  of  a  beloved 
elder  sister,  entranced  alike  by  the  tale  and  the  teller. 
They  differed,  too,  sufficiently  to  produce  those  arguments, 
which  are  always  satisfactory  when  taking  place  between 
the  sexes,  unless  the  parties  happen  to  be  husband  and 
wife.  He  would  put  to  her  supposititious  circumstances 
somewhat  parallel  to  his  own,  and  demand  her  opinion 
upon  them ;  and  she — sweet  casuist — would  meet  his 
expectations  with  a  defeat  so  winning  that  it  was  almost 
a  victory  for  himself.  She  had  no  great  respect  for  King 
Cophetua  in  his  relation  to  the  beggar  maid,  nor  for  the 
Lord  of  Burleigh  with  regard  to  the  village  lass.  Both 
monarch  and  nobleman  were  in  her  eyes  but  self-willed, 
impulsive  persons,  who  had  married  in  a  hurry.  With- 
out some  evidence  as  to  how  the  king  and  queen  got  on 
afterwards  in  domestic  life,  she  refused  to  concede  that 
he  had  done  right  in  thus  allying  himself;  in  the  Bur- 
leigh case  the  event  had  shown  that  the  lady  was  not 
strong  enough  for  the  place. 

As  for  any  greatness  of  soul  in  either  gentleman,  she 
could  see  nothing  of  that.  •  They  had,  each  of  them, 
money  and  rank  enough  for  two,  and  had  nobody  but 
their  own  inclinations  to  consult  in  the  matter ;  there 
were  no  interests  but  their  own  at  stake.     (Frederick 


THE     YOUNG     SQUIRE.  151 

Galton  gave  a  little  shudder  at  this.)  Xo;  if  Mr. 
Galton  wanted  an  example  of  nobility  of  purpose,  and 
true  contempt  of  conventionality,  she  would  be  happy, 
out  of  her  own  personal  knowledge,  to  offer  him  one  that 
no  poets  had  yet  rendered  unreal.  (And  here  she  smiled, 
archly  enough,  for  she  loved  the  poets  as  well  as  did  Mr. 
Frederick  Galton  himself.)  "  A  young  English  officer 
of  the  cavalry,  greatly  attached  to  his  profession  and  a 
favorite  with  all  his  regiment,  suddenly  sold  out,  and  left 
it,  no  one  knowing  for  what  reason.  The  mess  missed 
him,  and  regretted  him,  but  after  a  little,  utterly  forgot 
him,  as  men  do  forget  all  things  in  time.  Years  after- 
wards, a  captain,  upon  going  his  rounds,  perceived  a  new 
recruit  in  his  troop,  with  whose  face  he  was  not  altogether 
unfamiliar :  he  did  not  recognize  it,  but  only  concluded 
that  he  must  have  somewhere  seen  a  picture  that  was  like 
it.  Long  afterwards,  when  the  recruit  had  won  for  him- 
self a  commission,  and  the  captain  was  colonel,  the  newly- 
made  cornet  reminded  the  latter  how  very  nearly  he  had 
been  discovered  by  him,  when  he  had  first  re-entered  his 
dear  old  regiment  as  a  private. 

"  ^  What  \  are  you  So-and-so  ? '  cried  the  colonel .  '  Why, 
what  on  earth  induced  you  to  go  masquerading  in  this 
fashion?' 

"  ^  Family  circumstances,'  returned  the  other  quietly. 
'I  tried  other  things,  but  my  heart  always  yearned  to  the 
scarlet,  and  especially  to  my  dear  old  regiment ;  so,  since 
I  could  no  longer  command  in  it,  I  came  back  to  serve.' 

"The  real  fact  was,  that  his  mother  had  suddenly 
fallen  into  poor  circumstances ;  he  had  disposed  of  his 
commission,  and  applied  the  proceeds  to  her  necessities, 
and  began  life  over  again  on  his  own  account,  and  with 
scarce  a  shilling  in  addition  to  that  which  the  king  gave 
him  w^hen  he  "enlisted.  The  Lord  of  Burleigh  would 
scarcely  have  done  that,  I  fancy,  Mr.  Galton." 

This  is  but  an  example  of'  the  sort  of  talk  which 
Eugenie  would  hold  with  the  young  Freshman,  when 
they  were  not  arguing  (but  not  as  lawyers  do),  or  he  was 


152  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

not  listening  to  her  harp,  or  she  to  his  poems,  for  Fred- 
erick was  dreadfully  ready  with  his  verses,  and  would  re- 
cite them  on  the  slightest  provocation.  So  young,  so 
fair,  so  good,  so  altogether  charming  did  she  appear  to 
him,  that  he  had  more  than  once  made  up  his  mind  to 
cast  himself  at  her  feet,  and  confide  to  hei'  his  passion- 
ate love — for  Mary  Perling.  For  some  reason  or  other, 
not  distinctly  known  to  himself,  he  postponed  this  dec- 
laration. Perhaps  she  might  think  so  great  a  confidence, 
upon  so  slight  an  acquaintance,  an  impertinence ;  per- 
haps she  would  even  decide  against  him,  and  take  the 
same  unsatisfactory  view  of  the  matter  as  did  his  father 
and  uncle.  At  all  events,  the  avowal  might  disturb  the 
pleasant  relations  wliich  the  young  lady  and  himself  had 
established  with  one  another,  and  it  was  most  desirable 
that  these  should  continue.  Her  society,  he  had  per- 
suaded himself,  had  become  necessary  to  him,  as  is  a 
tonic  to  one  physically  depressed,  and  it  was  welcome 
even  when  others  shared  it. 

He  was  glad,  therefore,  when  M.  de  Lernay  invited 
Mr.  Meyrick  and  his  son  to  his  house  that  evening,  since, 
jarring  as  the  presence  of  sucli  people  might  be  there,  it 
was  better  than  their  ^absence,  which  must  needs  include 
his  own.  If  he  could  but  have  looked  into  the  future, 
however,  even  a  little  way — alas,  alas ! 

If  there  had  been  but  a  Cassandra  in  the  proctorless 
streets  that  night,  to  whisper  ^'  ^lurder !  murder ! "  in 
his  ear,  and  hold  a  bloody  dagger  by  the  blade,  its  handle 
towards  his  hand — 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,". observed  ^Ir.  Jack  Meyrick 
to  his  quondam  friend  as  they  walked  home  to  Minim 
Hall  that  night,  after  leaving  the  old  gentleman  at  his 
inn,  ^^that  Eujenny's  a  ripper,  and  just  the  sort  of  girl 
for  my  money." 


THE     SUPPEE-PARTY.  153 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE   SUPPER-PARTY. 

THE  Lent  Term  was  over,  and  the  Easter  Term, 
which  is  separated  from  it  by  an  interval  of  some 
few  days  only,  was  drawing  to  a  close.  It  was  May,  the 
carnival  month  of  Camford,  the  blithest,  brightest  epoch 
in  the  undergraduate  year.  That  poet  must  have  surely 
passed  his  universitv-davs  there  who  first  named  it 
''  Month  of  Flowers/'  and  "  the  laughing  May."  The 
flowers  may  be  in  the  windows  only,  which,  indeed,  are 
full  of  them,  purveyed  by  nurserymen  in  market  carts 
with  delicate  white  awnings,  and  forced  in  green-houses ; 
but  the  laughter  is  native  to  the  place.  The  May  Term 
is  a  smile  of  six  weeks  long,  a  ravishing  symphony  that 
concludes  the  harmonious  reading  year,  and  ushers  in  the 
long  vacation.  I  hear  its  magic  music  as  I  write,  made 
up  of  all  the  sounds  that  most  delight  the  young,  from 
the  yearning  of  the  organ  thunder  to  the  rustle  of  silk 
gowns — not  Masters  of  Arts'  gowns  (though  they  have 
music  for  some  ears),  but  those  of  lady- visitors,  the 
angels  who  condescend  to  visit  there  the  sons  of  men. 

From  the  long  lines  of  limes,  the  murmur  of  the  in- 
numerable bees  comes  dream-inspiring ;  from  the  winding 
river  and  echoing  bridge,  the  silver  splash  of  oars;  from 
open  windows,  through  the  hyacinth  and  the  rose,  breaks 
laughter  fitfully — the  music  of  young  hearts  aglow  with 
joy — and  over  all,  the  chimes,  great  Handel's  chimes, 
clash  night  and  day. 

The  very  religion  of  the  place  is  a  poem,  and  removed 
from  that  of  ordinary  life.  How  diflPerent  were  the 
"  high-built  college  fanes"  in  which  Frederick  Galton  now 
worshipped  (for  the  rules  of  Minim  Hall  were  lax,  and 
its  own  little  pocket  chapel  was  not  well  attended,)  to^^the 
white-washed  barn-like  edifice  at  Casterton  !    How  differ- 


154  MARRIED     BENEATH      HIM. 

ent  the  diamond-leaded  panes  of  its  village-church  from 
those  which  "  blushed  with  saints  and  pious  kings  ! " 
How  different  its  too  enunciating  parish  clerk^  who  called 
the  whale  ^'  the  great  lieutenant  of  the  waters/'  to  that 
responsive  band  of  white-robed  cherubim,  who  might 
have  called  it  anything,  in  their  mystic  chant,  without 
the  slightest  danger  of  detection.  Again,  as  one  who, 
used  to  bathe  in  some  sequestered  river  pool,  Avithout  one 
wave  save  that  which  is  caused  by  his  own  immersion, 
comes  to  the  brink  of  ocean,  and  plunges  in  amid  the 
countless  billows,  and  finds  them  strangely  buoyant,  so 
that  he  scarce  can  siuk,  but  is  upborne  by  the  warm 
Thetis  bosom,  so  from  his  village  life  and  uncompanioned 
v/ays,  the  young  man  passed  into  the  full  flood  of  under- 
graduate life,  and  could  not  choose  but  sjn^ing  to  its  sur- 
face. His  wit,  his  kindliness,  and  his  good  looks  were 
so  many  corks  v*diich  would  not  have  permitted  a  much 
more  determined  social  suicide  than  he  to  drown. 
Reputations  are  very  quickly  made  at  a  university,  and 
Frederick  Galton  was  carried  triumphantly  on  the  top 
crest  of  the  Freshman  wave  along  with  the  best  of  its 
foam  and  sparkle. 

The  Rev.  Robert  Morrit  was  right  in  selecting  Cam- 
ford  as  one  of  the  most  likely  places  in  the  world  to 
efface  the  remembrance  of  Casterton  and  its  affairs ;  if 
the  colors  of  university  life  are  so  fresh  and  bright,  and 
abiding  on  the  canvas  of  the  mind,  as  not  to  be  obliter- 
ated by  years  of  soberest  manhood,  how  can  the  early 
tints  which  they  overlay  have  force  to  struggle  through 
them  ?  The  memories  of  childhood,  of  boyhood,  of  calf 
love — how  can  these  survive  the  brilliant  records  of  that 
epoch,  when  youth  and  friendship,  and  health  and  wealth, 
and  poetry  and  good  cheer,  all  combine  together  to  make 
us  demigods? 

And  yet  Frederick  Galton  had  not  forgotten  his  quiet 
home,  nor  the  old  man,  left  very  solitary  there  for  lack 
of  him,  nor  his  uncle  and  friend  in  one ;  nor  the  ancient 
Round,  which  he  had  sung  so  ofteuj  and  peopled  with  its 


THE     S  U  P  P  E  R  -  P  A  R  T  Y.  155 

former  garrisons ;  nor  Eden,  and  that  simple  girl  in 
whose  smile  he  had  basked  so  lately,  and  to  part  ^yith 
whom  had  seemed  only  a  little  less  than  death.  He 
remembered  ]Mary  Perling,  and  his  heart,  whenever  he 
did  so,  beat  more  quickly  with  that  recollection  still  ;  but 
he  did  not  remember  her  always.  His  intentions  with 
regard  to  her  were  unaltered,  but  he  could  scarcely  have 
advocated  them  with  the  passionate  eloquence  of  a  few 
months  as^o. 

Time,  the  healer,  was  doing  his  work  with  him,  whether 
for  good  or  evil,  as  it  must  do  for  us  all.  We  may  shriek 
and  tear  our  hair,  and,  casting  ourselves  down  upon  the 
grave-top,  protest  that  underneath  it  lies  our  heart  along 
with  the  beloved  dead  ;  but  nevertheless  it  is  not  so. 
We  do  not  easily  forget,  indeed,  the  lost  one  who  is  all 
in  all  to  us,  but  in  time  we  need  to  be  reminded. 

The  pleasures  and  cares  of  this  life  choke  the  seed  of 
regret,  v\-hich,  unlike  the  grain  of  mustard-seed,  is  the 
greatest  of  all  grains  at  the  first,  but  dwindles  day  by 
day,  until  its  place,  the  very  heart  in  which  it  was  sown, 
knows  it  no  more. 

In  the  mornings  of  tliose  rare  days  when  he  was  not 
invited  to  some  breakfast  party,  Frederick  Galton  gave 
himself  up  to  composition  with  greater  or  less  success,  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Pafernoster  Porcupine.  The  studies  of 
Camford  had  little  charms  for  him,  and  as  he  was  suffi- 
ciently master  of  them  to  ensure  his  passing  the  ^'  Little 
Go,"  he  did  not  much  concern  himself  with  them.  One 
hour's  attendance  at  the  lecture  delivered  by  the  Vice- 
principal,  Dean,  Tutor  and  Bursar  (in  one),  satisfied  the 
demands  of  his  college,  and  afterwards  he  was  his  own 
master  for  the  day. 

He  wrote  then  until  luncheon-time,  after  which  he  was 
certain  to  be  called  for  by  some  pleasure-seeker  to  ride, 
to  drive,  to  boat,  or,  if  it  was  wet,  to  play  at  billiards. 
After  Hall,  he  was  always  engaged  to  "  wine,'^  which 
generally  turned  out  to  be  for  the  v^holc  evening,  so  that 
there  was  really  no  time  left  wherein  the  young  gentle- 


1  56  M  A  r.  Pv  1  E  D      B  E  X  E  A  T  I] 

man  could  think  at  all.  ReaUing-inen  have  their  work 
to  do  at  college ;  fast-men  have  their  vices  to  employ 
them  ;  Admirable  Crichtons  and  popular  fiivorites  have, 
least  of  all,  any  time  to  bewail  the  tender  misfortunes  of 
their  youth.  To  men  of  all  kinds,  therefore,  Camford  is 
the  very  grave  of  melancholy.  Moreover,  in  Frederick's 
<  ase,  there  was  added  to  the  various  other  causes  of  dis- 
traction, one  very  unconmioii  to  the  place — namely,  a 
voung  woman.  Scarcely  a  single  line  afternoon  went  by 
vvithout  some  expedition  being  planned  by  land  or  water, 
whereof  Eugenie  de  Lernay  and  her  father  formed  a 
part,  and  out  of  which  Mr.  ]^Iey rick,  junior,  could  not 
be  kept.  M.  de  Lernay  professed  to  be  interested  in  this 
voung  gentleman,  who  did  not  much  contribute  to  the 
ligreeableness  of  the  company.  Pie  had,  however,  power- 
ful sinews,  and  was  "a  good  oar."  They  made  him 
'^bow"  upon  all  water  parties;  a  position  which  kept 
him  as  far  removed  as  possible  from  the  principal  per- 
sonages, but  at  the  same  time  permitted  him  to  oaze  upon 
the  lovely  Eugenie,  which  was  all  he  asked.  AVhen  not 
employed  in  this  harmless  occupation,  he  w^as  continu- 
ously engaged  in  coloring  pipes.  Xow,  it  is  one  of  the 
peculiarides  of  tobacco  that,  whereas  intelligent  persons 
become  more  thoughtful  under  its  influence,  the  dull 
dogs  become  stupefied.  It  seems  to  intensify  what  is  in 
each  the  characteristic.  And  in  this  respect,  Camford 
life  has  often  an  exactly  similar  eifect  with  tol>acco.  The 
youthful  mathematician  becomes  there  doubly  enamored 
of  his  favorite  science,  the  oarsman  of  boating,  the  crick- 
eter of  cricket,  and  the  man  with  "  a  voice  *'  (to  his  cer- 
tain destruction,  as  for  as  university  distinctions  are  con- 
cerned) of  singing.  Similarly,  a  vulgar-minded  young 
fellow,  if  he  happen  to  miss  his  opportunity  of  forniing 
a  good  connection  at  first,  may  get  into  a  set  at  Camford 
which  will  encourage  his  very  lowest  propensities. 

This  was  unhappily  the  case  with  Mr.  John  Meyrick. 
He  was  too  proud"^  and  too  obstinate  to  be  the  satellite  of 
any  individual^  however  notorious.;  but  he  had  plenty  of 


THE     SUPPER-PARTY.  157 

money  and  could  thereby  attract  a  certain  worthless  cir- 
cle around  him  as  a  centre.  His  "rooms"  (for  they  are 
alwjtys  in  the  plural,  although  it  is  unusual  for  an  under- 
graduate to  possess  more  than  one  sitting  apartment)  were 
not  less  frequented,  although  by  a  different  class,  than 
those  of  his  contemporary.  Gal  ton.  These  two  could  no 
longer  be  termed  friends  ;  their  pursuits  were  too  dissimi- 
lar, and,  it  may  be,  their  opinions  upou  the  merits  of 
Miss  Eugenie  de  Lernay  too  much'  alike,  to  admit  of  this. 
Frederick  was  indignant  that  a  man  who  lived  so  coarsely 
and  viciously,  as  Meyrick  made  no  secret  of  doing,  should 
attach  himself  to  so  superior  a  being,  and  venture  to 
speak  of  her  with  familiarity,  particularly  among  his  low 
associates.  Meyrick,  on  the  other  hand,  saw  no  disparity 
in  the  affair  at  all ;  for  what  she  did  not  possess  in  any 
profusion — money — he  did ;  and,  moreover,  he  had  a 
hazy  notion  that  he  was,  genealogically  speaking,  a  per- 
son of  vast  importance,  which  a  Frenchman  could  scarcely 
be.  He  resented,  of  course,  with  much  indignation.  Gal- 
ton's  remonstrances  upon  this  subject,  and  smarted,  as  he 
had  never  done  before  he  knew  this  young  lady,  under 
the  sense  of  his  own  inferiority  to  him.  Eugenie  was 
kind  and  pleasant  to  Mr.  John  ]\Ieyrick,  as  she  was  to 
everybody.  But  his  share  of  her  attentions  was  neces- 
sarily small  in  comparison  with  that  of  the  young  poet. 
Frederick  and  he  had  not  had  any  decided  quarrel  as  yet, 
but  they  were  both  very  ripe  for  quarrelling. 

-On  a  certain  evening,  during  the  boat-races,  which  at 
Camford  take  place  in  May,  Meyrick  had  a  large  supper- 
party  in  his  rooms,  at  which  Galton  was  present.  He 
had  made  a  point  of  being  so  because  he  had  avoided  him 
so  much  of  late,  and  he  knew  that  his  father  and  uncle 
would  both  be  displeased  in  case  the  squire's  son  and  he 
should  return  to  Casterton  enemies.  He  arrived,  how- 
ever, rather  late,  after  the  men  had  sat  down  to  table, 
and  perceived,  by  the  sudden  silence  at  his  entrance,  and 
a  "  hush  !  hush  ! "  Avhich  ran  through  the  company,  that 
they  had  been  talking  about  himself     He  was  annoyed 


158  MARRIED     BENEATH      HIM. 

that  any  affairs  of  his  -should  have  been  made  the  topic 
of  conversation  among  the  class  of  persons  there  assem- 
bled; but  he  seated  himself  next  a  boating-man  with 
whom  he  had  a  slight  acquaintance,  and  began  to  speak 
of  the  results  of  that  day's  racing.  He  was,  however, 
by  no  means  so  occupied  with  the  subject,  or  cntrancecj 
with  his  neighbor's  eloquence,  but  that  he  could  catch 
some  words  of  a  conversation  which  was  being  carried  on 
at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  where  sat  the  liost ;  peals 
of  laughter  now  and  then  interrupted  it,  and  glances  of 
scornful  mirth  were  surreptitiously  thrown  in  Frederick's 
direction,  which  called  the  blood  up  to  his  cheek,  though 
lie  refrained  for  some  time  from  noticing  them. 

"A  servant-maid — a  slavey  !  "  cried  one,  "and  wanted 
to  marry  her  !     AVell,  that  is  a  good  one! '' 

"  Can't  conceive  any  gentleman  doing  such  a  thing," 
observed  another,  M*itli  that  thickness  of  utterance  which 
so  materially  detracts  from  the  value  of  an  opinion. 

"A  likely  story,"  observed  a  third,  in  reply  to  some 
remark  which  did  not  reach  Frederick's  ears ;  and  then 
there  was  a  roar  of  laughter. 

The  youthful  mariner  was  excessively  annoyed  by 
these  repeated  interruptions  of  his  tale,  and  asked  his 
companion  what  those  confounded  fellows  up  there  were 
snio^o^erino;  about. 

"  What  is  the  joke  there,  gentlemen?"  inquired  Fred- 
erick, with  a  distinctness  which  does  not  always  accom- 
pany loudness  of  speech  at  supper  parties.  "It  is  bad 
manners  to  have  secret  jokes  in  company." 

"  It  would  be  a  deuced  deal  worse  to  tell  it ! "  shouted 
out  a  nautical  person,  whereupon  there  was  a  second 
tumult  of  laughter. 

"They're  talking  about  you,"  observed  Frederick's 
neighbor — "  that  is  the  simple  fact." 

"Mr.  Meyrick,".  said  Galton,  rising,  "permit  me  to 
observe — " 

"  Hear,  hear  I  "  broke  forth  a  chorus  of  drunken  voices 
— "hear  the  orator." 


THE     SUPPER-PARTY.  159 

*^  Cuss  me,  if  he  ain^t  going  to  propose  his  own  health ! " 
observed  the  Hon.  Guy  Drawlingtou,  yawning. 

''  Easy,  all ! "  remonstrated  Mr.  Stretcher  Rullock — 
"  let  him  pull  it  out ! " 

^^I  Avas  about  to  remark,  Mr.  Meyrick,  that  it  was 
scarcely  becoming  in  a  friend — " 

^'  Oh,  bother  your  friendship  !  "  replied  Meyrick,  husk- 
ily, and  with  an  evil  look  in  his  eyes.     "Who  cares?" 

"  Everybody  who  is  a  gentleman  cares,  sir !  "  retorted 
Galton,  angrily,  '^even  though  he  may  be  a  habitual 
drunkard." 

Xow,  an  excessive  fondness  for  strong  drinks  was  one 
of  the  weaknesses  of  Mr.  John  Meyrick's  moral  character 
that  he  was  rather  ashamed  of,  and  did  not  make  the 
subject  of  boast. 

"  You  sentimental  humbug  ! "  cried  he,  passionately, 
"don't  try  your  hypocritical  tricks  on  us,  I  beg.  AYe 
know  all  about  you  here,  ice  do — all  about  you  and  your 
dairy-maid.     I  should  be  ashamed  to  kiss  and  tell." 

Frederick's  fingers  clutched  at  a  claret  jug,  and  would 
have  certainly  launched  it  at  the  speaker,  but  for  the  in- 
terposition of  Mr.  Rullock's  powerful  hand. 

"  The  man's  drunk,"  whispered  he  to  Frederick — "  the 
whole  crew  are  drunk  except  one  or  two.  Ship  your 
oars,  my  good  fellow — ship  your  oars  I " 

Some  other  men  had  risen  around  him,  and  about  the 
host  there  was  a  standing  army  of  excited  young  fellows 
suggesting  various  lines  of  conduct  for  his  consideration. 
"Apologize  I " — "  Kick  him  ! " — "  Challenge  him  to  fight 
with  champagne  'corks  ! " — "  Sit  down  and  hold  your 
tongue  ! '  — "  Send  for  the  purleece,  and  a  stretcher ! " 

In  the  midst  of  this  scene  of  disorder,  after  much  un- 
answered knocking  at  the  door,  entered  the  porter  of  the 
college,  and  whispered  something  in  Frederick's  ear. 

"  I  don't  hear  you ! "  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
sharply,  "  these  blackguards  make  such  a  noise.  Speak 
out,  man ! " 

"A  lady  from  Oldborough  wishes  to  see  you  immedi- 


160  MAEEIED     BENEATH      HIM. 

ately  upon  important  basiness.  She  is  waiting  at  the 
lodge-gate,  sir,  now." 

"  It's  Marv  Perling  ! "  shrieked  Meyrick,  derisively  ; 
'^  it's  his  precious  dairy-maid  come  after  him,  you  may 
take  your  oath  of  it." 

A  roar  of  inextinguishable  laughter  burst  from  friends 
and  foes  at  this  sally.  Frederick  Galton  cast  such  a  look 
about  him  as  some  maddened  bull  who  looks  from  mata- 
dor to  matador  in  indecisive  fury ;  then  rising  abruptly 
from  the  table,  he  left  the  room,  slamming  its  double- 
doors  behind  him,  and  followed  the  porter,  wlio  Avas 
already  half-way  down  the  stairs. 

^'  Tell  the  lady  I  will  be  with  her  directly  ! "  cried 
Galton,  leaning  over  the  banisters.  "  I  am  sorry  I  was 
rude  to  you,  James." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  thatj  sir,"  returned  the  porter,  grin- 
ning. "  When  the  wine  is  in — wdiy,  then,  gentlefolks  will 
be  gentlefolks,  we  knows.'' 

It  was  not  wine,  however,  which  was  making  the 
young  man's  brain  reel,  and  changing  his  blood  to  flame ; 
it  was  not  wine  which  made  his  heart  throb,  so  that  he 
had  need  to  press  his.  hand  upon  it,  like  one  in  pain. 
Yet  he  went  to  his  chamber,  and  bathed  his  burning 
head  in  water,  and  bared  it  to  the  cold  night  air,  as  he 
walked  across  the  grass  plot  to  the  porter's  lodge.  There 
were  passions  at  Avork  within  him,  more  intoxicating, 
more  bewildering  than  was  ever  juice  of  grape.  Furv, 
such  as  only  a  nature  like  his  own  was  capable  of  enter- 
taining, against  John  Meyrick  and  his  ribald  friends; 
and  reawakened  love,  the  stronger  f6r  its  long  sleep  of 
late,  and  quickened  into  passionate  life  by  the  near  pres- 
ence of  the  beloved  object.  Something  within  him,  too, 
was  bidding  him  take  thought  while  yet  there  should  be 
time ;  while  he  yet  stood  alone  under  the  blue  vault  of 
heaven  and  the  quiet  stars.  His  father,  uncle,  Eugenie, 
with  her  reproachful  eyes — the  images  of  all  these  crossed 
his  brain,  and  each  with  a  look  of  warning,  ere  he  lifted 
the  latch  of  the  lodge-door. 


A     TRIP     TO     OLDBOEOUGH.  161 

'^  She  is  in  here,  sir/'  said  the  porter,  as  he  ushered  him 
iuto  the  little  parlor.  '^  This  is  Mr.  Frederick  Galton, 
the  young  gentleman  as  you  Avas  inquiring  fcr,  ma'am." 

A  little  old  woman,  attired  in  deep  mourning,  with  a 
white,  worn  face,  set  round  with  a  close-fitting  widow^s 
cap,  rose  up  as  he  entered,  and  said,  very  gravely:  '^I  am 
widow  Perling,  sir,  Mary  Perling's  mother.'^ 


CHAPTER    XV. 

A   TEIP   TO   OLDBOEOUGH. 

IT  must  be  a  chilling  circumstance  to  any  young  gen- 
tleman, whose  arras  are  extended  lovingly  to  receive 
his  bride,  to  find  within  them  the  unresponsive  form  of 
his  mother-in-law ;  but  something  much  worse  than  dis- 
appointment a\yaited  Mr.  Frederick  Galton.  He  had 
closed  the  door  with  eager  haste,  and  advanced  with 
outstretched  hands  quite  close  to  her  he  would  have 
welcomed  ere  he  discovered  his  mistake,  and  now  he 
stood  like  one  turned  into  stone,  looking  not  upon  his 
love,  but  upon  some  messenger  of  evil  tidings.  Even  in 
that  ill-lighted,  dusky  parlor,  it  was  easy  enough  to  read 
the  lines  of  recent  sorrow  in  the  countenance  of  his 
visitor,  and  the  expectation  of  some  worse  woe  to  come. 
Her  whole  presence  was  instinct  with  it.  Xo  man  who 
beheld  her  could  have  said.  This  is  a  lady,  or  not  a  lady ; 
but  must  needs  have  thought  of  his  own  mother,  and 
felt  a  touch  of  pity.  She  uttered  the  few  words  with 
which  the  last  chapter  concluded,  and  taking  up  the  one 
candlestick  that  stood  on  the  table,  held  it  close  to  Fred- 
erick's fiice,  as  though  it  had  been  a  printed  page. 

"You  have  a  handsome  countenance,  young   gentle- 
man," said  she,  "and  honest  eyes;  I  wonder  whether  you 
have  a  heart." 
10 


162  M  A  E  E  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     H  I  M . 

"Are  you  come  to  break  it,  then?'^  groaned  Fred- 
erick, piteously.  "Speak,  speak  in  mercy,  woman."  He 
was  on  his  knees  looking  up  into  her  calm,  despairing 
face,  and  plucking  at  her  coarse  crape  sleeve.  "Oh,  tell 
me,  tell  me  that  your  daughter  is  not  dead!" 

"I  have  brought  you  back  your  verses,"  said  the 
widow  in  a  low  calm  voice,  but  mechanically  like  one 
who  is  repeating  a  lesson,  "  and  the  note  that  you  wrote 
to  her  when  you  vrere  parted ;  you  may  make  use  of 
them,  perhaps,  vrith  somebody  else."  She  spoke  with 
exceeding  bitterness,  droj^ping  each  word  into  his  ear 
like  molten  metal.  "  Please  to  give  me  back  her  foolish 
ill-spelt  letter  (if  you  have  it  still)  and  her  lock  of  hair." 
But  when  he  covered  his  face,  and  fell  down  before  her, 
sobbing,  she  added  :  "  Then  you  did  love  her,  did  you, 
Mr.  Galton,  after  all  ?" 

^'D'ld,  woman  !  I  love  her  now !  Dead  or  alive  she 
is  mine!  Take  me  to  where  she  is !  You  coukUnot — 
no,  you  dare  not  have  buried  her  without  my  being  sent 
for.  AVhat  is  this?  You  are  lying!  She  is  not  dead! 
You  could  not  smile  like  that,  if  she  were  dead,  being 
your  own  daughter." 

"Xo,  sir,  she  is  not  dead,"  returned  the  old  lady  in  a 
voice  now  trembling  for  the  first  time;  "but  she  is  very 
ill ;  dying,  I  fear,  for  love  of  you.  I  would  not  have 
come  here,  like  a  beggar,  to  ask  for  more  than  gold,  but 
that,  as  you  say,  she  is  my  own  daughter,  and,  ah  sir,  my 
pride,  my  all!  I  am  no  schemer,  sir,  God  know^s.  I 
would  to  Heaven  your  eyes  had  never  lit  upon  my  Mary, 
nor  hers  on  you !  I  want  no  young  gentleman  for  my 
son-in-law.  But  when  your  uncle,  Mr.  Morrit,  came 
over  to  us,  and  offered  money — " 

"  Money ! "  exclaimed  Frederick,  passionately.  "  What ! 
he  tempted  Mary  with  a  bribe  to  play  me  false?  Damned 
juggling  priest ! " 

"  Hush,  hush,  sir !  Pray  be  calm !  I  see  now  that 
you  had  nothing  to  do  w^ith  it.  That  was  what  Mary 
always  said.     But  Avhen  he  told  her  that  you  and  she 


A     TKIP     TO     OLD  BOROUGH.  163 

could  never  be  married,  and  that  you  knew  that  as  well 
as  he,  and  that  you  had  already  found  another  young 
woman — I  am  only  repeating  what  your  uncle  told  us, 
you  know,  sir,  and  being  a  clergyman,  why,  of  course, 
I  believed  him  —  much  more  suitable  as  to  circum- 
stances, in  case  a  boy  of  your  age  was  to  think  of  such 
matters  at  all;  then  Mary — poor  thing  I — she  seemed 
to  fade  away  just  like  any  rose  in  one's  parlor  ^vindow; 
nay,  after  a  week  or  two  she  became  almost  a  shadow, 
and  the  doctor  says  it  is  consumption,  if  there  is  nothing 
which  is  afflicting  her  mind,  Avhich,  however,  is  un- 
happily the  case.  And  so  I  came  here,  unknown  to  my 
poor  darling,  on  the  slight  chance  that  things  might  not 
be  exactly  as  they  were  represented.  It  was  very  wrong 
of  me,  I  fear,  and  self-humiliating,  but  it  is  /,  remember, 
who  have  come  to  seek  you  and  not  Mary.  She  would 
not  have  come — not  she — to  save  her  own  life;  and  if  I 
had  found  you  the  heartless  lad  whom  I  expected  to  find, 
I  should  have  taken  back  with  me  all  the  tokens  she  had 
given  you  of  her  misplaced  love,  and  returned  them  to 
her,  so  that  she  should  no  longer  be  flattered  by  false 
hopes.  For  she  does  hope  still,  I  know,  Mr.  Galton,  for 
all  that  I  can  say  to  convince  her.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
it  would  almost  be  better  for  her  to  die  than  to  live  on 
trusting  to — .  Oh,  young  gentleman,  God  forgive  me 
for  thinking  the  things  that  I  have  thought  of  you  these 
many  days ! ''  And  the  dear  old  lady's  chin  began  to 
move  up  and  down  in  a  manner  which,  to  the  attentive 
observer,  as  Admiral  Fitzroy  would  say,  portends  much 
rain. 

"You  are  going  back  to  Oldborough  at  once,  I  sup- 
pose,'' cried  Frederick ;  "  by  to-morrow's  coach." 

"By  to-night's  mail,  Mr.  Galton,"  replied  the  old  lady, 
wiping  her  eyes  with  vigor.  "It  starts  at  half-past 
eleven,  and  arrives  at  Wentworth  Junction  in  time  for 
the  first  morning  train.  My  dear  Mary  thinks  I  am 
gone  to  London  to  decline  her  situation  with  Lady 
Ackers,  Avhich  she  is  muoli  too  ill  to  accept,  and  she  will 


164  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

expect  me  home  to  breakfast.  What  blessed  comfort  I 
shall  have  to  bring  her — I  who  have  striven  so  hard  to 
persuade  her  that  you  had  forgotten  her !  I  shall  see  her 
smile  once  more/^ 

"  That  is  a  sight  which  I  would  not  miss  on  any 
account,"  said  Frederick,  gravely.  ''I  will  go  with  you 
to-night  to  Old  borough,  and  see  her  too.^^ 

"You  tcill!^'  cried  the  old  lady,  starting  up  like  one 
of  half  her  age,  and  putting  both  her  hands  in  his.  "Oh, 
but  this  is  a  brave  boy!"  She  scanned  him  from  head 
to  foot  with  eyes  that  had  no  longer  suspicion  or  ill-wiil 
in  them.  "I  do  not  wonder  that  my  Mary  loves  you. 
But  no,  Mr.  Galton,  this  must  not  be.  We  must  do 
nothing  rashly.  You  might  get  into  trouble  for  leaving 
school — (she  looked  up  at  his  tasseled  cap)  that  is,  1 
mean  college.  You  are  very,  very  young ;  that  was  what 
Mr.  Morrit  dwelt  upon  so.  I  am  Avrong,  it  will  be  said, 
to  come  and  tempt  you  to  do  what  your  relations  so  dis- 
approve— taking  advantage,  as  it  were,  of  your  youth 
and  tenderness  of  heart.  And  yet,  what  is  all  that  to 
me  when  my  daughter  is  dying?" 

"Ay,  what  indeed?"  echoed  Frederick.  "X6w,  see, 
you  have  come  to  me  on  a  matter  of  life  and  deatli ;  you 
can  tell  the  porter  that  as  you  go  out,  and  I  will  be  at 
the  coach-office  in  half  an  hour." 

AVith  one  squeeze  of  the  old  lady's  hand,  as  earnest  of 
his  faithfulness  rather  than  adieu,  the  young  man  hur- 
ried away  to  his  rooms,  and  thrust  some  necessaries  into 
a  carpet-bag.  Then  he  wrote  a  few  hurried  lines  to  the 
Principal  (who,  by  great  good  fortune,  happened  to  be 
out  at  a  dinner-party  that  evening),  preferring  that 
course  to  asking  leave  of  absence  upon  such  an  expedi- 
tion of  any  subordinate  authority  of  his  college. 

The  resolution  of  the  gatekeeper,  who  would  have 
opposed  his  egress,  was  overcome  by  the  young  man^s 
passionate  anxiety  and  assurance  that  he  had  made  mat- 
ters all  ^  right  wdtlr  Dr.  Hermann ;  and  within  an  hour 
of  leaving  that  roaring  -supper  -  party,   he  was  sitting 


A     TRIP     TO     OLD  BO  HOUGH.  165 

behind  the  night -mail,  with  Mrs.  Perling  for  his  sole 
companion.  The  inside  places  had  been  taken,  bnt  that 
^va.s  of  no  consequence  to  tlie  wheelwright's  hardy 
Avidow ;  and  as  for  himself,  he  could  scarcely  have 
endured  confinement  in  his  excited  state  of  mind. 

Expulsion  from  Minim  Hall  was  the  least  grave  of 
the  possible  contingencies  which  might  folloAv  his  present 
course  of  action.  First,  of  course,  in  his  thoughts,  was 
the  joy  of  meeting  Avith  his  love  Nafter  an  absence  tliat 
had  almost  extended  to  the  six  months,  which  had  been 
agreed  upon  as  the  limit  of  their  separation.  All  consci- 
entious scru[)les  about  anticipating  the  date  were  swept 
away  from  his  mind  by  the  news  of  his  uncle's  conduct. 
There  had  been  a  tacit  understanding,  as  he  conceived, 
that  no  influence  should  be  used  as  res]>ected  his  attach- 
ment to  Mary  Perling  either  on  one  side  or  the  other; 
if  he  did  not  press  his  suit,  neither  was  his  family  to 
interfere  in  opposition  to  it,  and  far  less  in  so  discredit- 
able a  manner  as  Mr.  Morrit  had  done.  With  that 
gentleman  he  was  furiously  indignant,  and  really  not 
without  considerable  reason.  The  curate  had  not  behaved 
like  a  gentleman,  or,  as  Frederick  would  have  expressed 
it,  had  he  been  only  a  little  less  exasperated,  "like  him- 
self." Perhaps  this  gentlemanlincss,  which  includes  so 
many  excellent  things,  is  only  comparative  with  the  very 
best  of  us.  Xo  one  possesses  it  in  perfection.  AVe  may 
be  honorable,  and  honest,  and  delicate-minded  in  a  vast 
number  of  things,  yet  mean  enough  in  others.  It  was 
very  base  in  the  Rev.  Robert  ]\Iorrit  to  ride  over  to  Old- 
borough  and  misrepresent  matters  in  the  way  Avhich  he 
had  done ;  although  from  his  oavu  stand-point,  the  affair 
wore  doubtless  a  very  different  aspect  to  that  which  it 
]:>resented  to  Frederick.  Here  was  a  lad  with  a  foolish 
fond  father,  about  to  ruin  himself  socially,  at  the  very 
commencement  of  his  life,  by  a  Ioav,  and,  very  probably, 
a  vicious  marriage.  Was  it  likely,  even  putting  other 
considerations  of  immense  im])ortance  out  of  the  cjuestion, 
that  a  servant  girl  Avho  suffered  herself  to  be  made  love 


166  MARRIED     BENEATH      HIM. 

to  by  her  master's  son,  should  make  him  a  virtuous  wife '? 
Could  she  ever  seriously  have  flattered  herself  that  he 
would  have  made  her  his  wife  at  all  ?  Would  she  not  be 
inclined  to  make  a  favorable  composition  for  so  ridiculous 
a  claim,  and  would  not  slight  damages  for  such  a  breach 
of  promise  suffice,  if  offered  promptly  by  the  defendant's 
attorney,  —  that  is,  by  his  reverend  uncle  —  in  ready 
money?  Would  it  not  be  well  to  put  one's  check-book 
in  one'-  ])ocket,  and  visit  the  wheelwright's  widow  in 
person,  and  inquire  the  lowest  figure  at  which  this  little 
matter  could  be  managed?  Something  like  this  had 
probably  passed  through  the  mind  of  the  well-meaning 
Mr.  Morrit.  But  arrived  at  Oldborough,  he  had  met 
with  unexpected  oppositil)n,  and  founcl  human  nature 
itself  quite  inconsistent  with  his  previous  conceptions. 

Clergymen  who  aspire  to  be  men  of  the  world  subject 
themselves  to  disappointments  of  this  kind  more,  per- 
haps, than  any  other  class  of  people ;  and  they  are  also 
inclined  to  be  obstinate  under  failure.  Upon  discover- 
ing the  phenomenon  of  a  wheelwright's  widow  in  indi- 
gent circumstances,  not  anxious  to  exchange  her  daugh- 
ter's feelings  for  bank-notes,  and  the  daughter  herself 
really  drooping  and  melancholy,  like  some  low-born 
maiden  in  a  ballad  sick  for  love  of  a  king's  son,  the 
curate  lost  his  temper.  He  not  only  dwelt  upon  the 
madness  and  folly  of  the  attachment  he  had  come  to 
dissolve,  and  pointed  out  the  destruction  it  must  needs 
entail  upon  his  nephew's  prospects,  but  he  took  to  pious 
frauds.  He  represented  Frederick  himself  as  being  not 
unwilling  that  the  matter  should  drop,  and,  I  am  afraid, 
greatly  exaggera^-ed  certain  statements  which  the  Prin- 
cipal of  Minim  Hall  had  written  concerning  the  young 
Freshman  and  Miss  de  Lernay.  ^'  I  think,"  wrote  the 
doctor  in  confidence,  "  that  the  society  of  Miss  de  Lernay 
is  gradually  winning  our  young  friend  from  his  mel- 
ancholy." 

"I  am  advised,  Mrs.  Perling,"  mis([Uoted  the  curate, 
"that    my   impressionable    nephew    has    already    been 


A     TEIP     TO     OLDBOROUGH.  167 

smitten  with  the  charms  of  a  young  lady  at  Camford, 
not  unsuitable  to  be  his  wife,  if  he  happened  to  be  seven- 
and-twenty,  instead  of  seventeen ;  being  the  boy  he  is, 
such  a  thing  is  not  worth  mentioning,  and  I  only  speak 
of  it  in  mercy  to  your  daughter,  that  she  may  cease  to 
consider  the  attentions  of  such  a  butterfly  lover  as  any- 
thing at  all  serious." 

Well-meaning  but  wicked  words,  which  bore  fruit  the 
very  opposite  of  that  which  the  speaker  intended  :  thev 
sent  ]\fary  Perling's  pulse  down  to  something  not  worth 
mentioning,  so  that  the  Oldborough  doctor  shook  his 
head  about  her;  they  drove  her  mother,  as  we' have  seen, 
off  to  Jlinim  Hall ;  and  they  were  novr  driving  her  back 
again,  at  ten  miles  an  hour,  by  the  side  of  the  very  young 
gentleman  whom  it  had  been  their  sole  intention  to  keep 
apart  from  her  and  hers  forever. 

Frederick  Galton's  ire  was  great,  as  he  thought  upon 
these  things ;  but  he  well  knew  that  the  good  doctor  had 
been  no  party  to  the  ctirate's  design  or  its  execution,  and 
therefore,  as  respected  his  father,  the  young  man's  con- 
science smote  him  sore  with  respect  to  the  present  under- 
taking. Unpleasant  thoughts  flitted  across  him  concern- 
ing that  sorrowful  parent  toiling  on  for  his  sole  benefit 
night  and  day,  over  the  lonely  Downs,  and  the  little 
return  he  was  himself  now  making  for  it  all. 

Was  it  not  holding  cheap  that  life-long  love  thus  to — 

"But  then  she  is  ill;  she  maybe  even  dying,"  an- 
swered the  poor  lad  aloud,  as  though  he  would  have 
stifled  the  still  small  voice  of  conscience  by  articulate 
speech. 

"Oh,  let  us  hope  not  that,"  replied  Mrs.  Perling, 
simply.  "'  I  look  to  the  sight  of  you  quite  setting  her 
up  again." 

Setting  her  tip  again  I  a  very  common  expression 
surely,  and  perfectly  intelligible ;  yet  somehow  it  jarred 
upon  the  young  man's  ear,  AVhile  the  good  v.idow  had 
been  pleading  her  daughter's  cause  with  natural  eloquence, 
she  had  aroused  in  Frederick  a  verv  honest  admiration 


168  M  A  Pw  E  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

for  herself;  but  now  that  her  cause  (as  surely  it  deserved 
to  do  !)  had  triumphed,  he  began  to  grow  fastidious  about 
his  mother-in-law  elect.  Why  needed  she  have  confided 
to  him  her  opinion  that  it  was  a  shame  that  the  coach 
seats  were  built  so  high,  or  at  least  that  there  were  no 
footstools  provided  for  persons  like  herself,  with  short 
legs?  Also,  how  could  that  relative  expectant  have 
such  an  extraordinary  relish  for  sandwiches,  which  had 
obviously  been  carried  about  with  her  for  a  considerable 
time  ?  She  had  offered  this  unpleasant  refreshment  to 
him  in  a  newspaper;  and  though  he  had  not  partaken  of 
it,  it  had  destroyed  his  appetite  quite  as  completely  as  if 
he  had.  Would  Mary  have  eaten  them,  he  wondered  ? 
Fancy  Eugenie  de  Lernay  eating  sandwiches  which 
seemed  to  have  received  the  impression  of  the  human 
form  I  Arrived  at  the  railway  station,  the  widow 
insisted  upon  using  her  third-class  return  ticket,  which, 
of  course,  consigned  Frederick  also  to  cushionless  seats. 
He  was  very  tired  by  that  time,  and  would  have  hailed 
the  conveniences  for  repose  afforded  by  the  class  he 
usually  travelled  by;  and,  moreover,  he  thought  the 
guard  addressed  him  in  a  tone  that  he  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  hear  /rom  railway  officials.  These,  indeed, 
were  suiall  inconveniences,  not  to  l^e  considered  bv  a 
^philosopher,  but  tlieir  aggregate  effect  upon  the  young 
gentleman  was  considerable.  He  was  not  so  blind  a 
lover,  even  then,  but  tliat  the  passing  thought,  "And  if 
I  marry  this  woman's  daughter  I  shall  be  subject  all  mv 
life  to  pettA'  humiliations  such  as  these,"  overclouded 
his  mind. 

AVeary  as  he  was  by  the  time  they  reached  their  jour- 
ney's end,  the  sight  of  Oldborough  church  tower,  with 
the  reflections  which  it  evoked — "Shall  I  be  married 
there,  I  wonder,  or  at  Castertou,  and  when  ?  " — revived 
him  like  a  tonic.  The  little  station,  with  its  tiny  strip 
of  garden  shining  in  the  morning  sun,  backed  by  the 
ancient  woods  that  overhung  the  sleeping  town,  and 
skirted  the  broad  river  which  ran  throudi  it,  made 


A     TRIP     TO     OLDBOEOLGH.  1G9 

a  pleasant  picture.  Declining  to  take  advantage  of  the 
omnibus  accommodation,  upon  the  plea  that  "  sixpence 
saved  was  sixpence  got/'  Mrs.  Perling  led  the  way  on 
foot  through  quite  an  avenue  of  elips  to  an  old  stone 
bridge,  with  whose  little  toll-house  the  town  might  be 
said  to  commence.  Xothing  was  moving  at  that  early 
hour  save  the  innumerable  rooks  which  clanged  and 
circled  in  the  clear  blue  air.  All  nature  wore  an  air  of 
placid  beauty.  The  stream  which  circled  and  eddied 
beneath  the  archways  shot  forth  beyond  them,  smooth 
and  swift,  dividing  silently  Avhere  it  met  the  osier-beds, 
and  reuniting  beyond  them  only  to  divide  again.  Some- 
where out  of  sight,  however,  the  river  forked,  and  the 
sound  of  far-off  waters  tumbling — some  distant  ^'  lasher  " 
— struck  musically  upon  the  ear. 

"What  a  lovely  spot  I''  exclaimed  Frederick,  leaning 
for  a  moment  over  the  balustrades. 

"Ay,  indeed,''  rejoined  the  widow,  briskly;  "and 
especially  next  month,  when  the  regatta  is  held  here,  and 
there  are  shows  upon  the  .island,  and  fireworks  at  the 
weir,  and  all  the  street  yonder  is  lined  with  booths,  and 
you  can  scarcely  hear  yourself  speak  for  bands  of  music." 

"And  you  like'that  sort  of  thing,  do  you  ?  "  inquired 
the  flistidious  one. 

"  ^\^hy,  no ;  not  I,"  answered  the  unconscious  widow. 
"  My  young  days  are  gone  by,  when  I  took  pleasure  in 
such  things ;  but  Mary,  she,  of  course,  enjoys  herself 
when  she  can ;  or,  at  least,  she  used  to  do  so,  poor  dear ! 
And  when  the  ball  was  held  on  the  Eyot  last  year,  just 
before  her  poor  father  died — which  couldn't  be  foreseen, 
alack,  alack — there  was  nobody  so  sought  after,  I  can 
tell  you,  though  she  was  but  just  sixteen.  I  should  have 
been  quite  against  her  going,  but  that  it  was  so  kind  of 
the  regatta  committee  to  send  us  tickets.  Some  people 
thought  us  quite  stuck  up  for  accepting  them,  but  it  was 
not  for  us  to  be  rude  to  gentlefolks,  and  s^-nd  them  back 
again ;  and  I  am  sure  there  was  not  a  girl  in  the  com- 
pany who  looked   more  the  perfect  lady  than  did  our 


170  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

]\Iary,  although  I  says  it  as  shouldn't  say  it. — This  is  the 
short  way,  Mr.  Galton,  over  this  stile.  Lord  I  how 
white  you  do  look ;  well,  and  I  daresay  you're  tired,  not 
being  used  to  sit  up  o'  nights  like  me  ;  but  you  shall  have 
some  gin  and  peppermint  directly,  which,  as  my  poor 
husband  used  to  say,  is  the  only  thing  when  you  feel  a 
little  down-like.  That  is  our  cottage  yonder,  under 
the  limes." 

Frederick  did  indeed  feel  a  little  "  down-like,"  but 
not  from  that  species  of  de]3ression  which  could  be  cured 
by  the  recipe  in  question.  He  was  hurt  beyond  measure 
at  the  notion  of  his  beloved  object  having  been  patronised 
by  a  regatta  committee,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  Old- 
borough  church  at  least,  of  all  churches,  should  never 
witness  his  marriage  with  Mary  Perling.  He  already 
beheld  a  crowd  of  vulgar  spectators,  some  of  whom  could 
doubtless  boast  of  having  encircled,  in  the  waltz,  her 
lovely  waist  with  their  horrid  arms.  When  Mrs.  Per- 
ling said  "  There  is  the  cottage,"  however,  he  forgot 
everything,  but  that  he  was  looking  upon  the  dwelling 
of  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  England,  and  one  who  loved 
him  so  intensely,  that  she  could  not  live  without  him: 
that  confession  had  in  effect  been  almost  made  to  him  by 
her  mother,  and  it  was  amply  corroborated  by  his  own 
heart.  His  pulses  throbbed  with  the  fulness  of  the 
spring  at  the  sight  of  the  low-roofed  house  now  coming 
into  view.  It  was  a  very  unambitious  red-bricked 
edifice,  with  a  wooden  porch  to  the  door,  sadly  in  want 
of  a  coat  of  paint.  A  little  garden,  given  up  mostly  to 
vegetables,  rapidly  merged  into  an  apple-orchard,  not 
very  promising  as  to  fruit ;  but  there  was  an  arbor  in 
the  latter,  overlooking  the  weir,  which  caught  Fred- 
erick's eye  at  once,  possibly  as  being  a  place  adapted  for 
love-passages.  Mrs.  Perling  observed  his  glance  in  that 
direction,  and  explained  that  the  arbor  had  been  her 
husband's  favorite  haunt  of  a  summer  evening,  but  that 
now — none  of  them  havino;  the  heart  to  go  near  it — it 
was  occupied  with  apples  and  onions,  and  tools ;  he  had 


MARY     P  E  R  L  I  >'  G     AT     HOME.  171 

likewise,  she  added,  liked  to  sit  with  his  pipe  under 
"them  limes/^  which,  although  they  overshadowed  all 
the  roof,  stood  at  the  back  of  the  house  in  the  wheel- 
wright's yard.  A  pleasant  smell  of  wood-chips  here 
made  itself  apparent,  which  told  of  this  latter  locality. 
"  Our  Mary  is  sure  to  -be  up  and  waiting  for  me,  for  she 
can't  sleep,  poor  thing ;  she  as  was  used  to  be  such  a 
lie-a-bed ;  but  the  kitchen  is  at  the  back,  so  she  won't 
see  us  a-coming ;  neither  will  Jane,  who  is  getting  the 
breakfast  ready ;  so  we  shall  come  upon  them  quite  un- 
awares. Xow,  do  you  stay  in  the  passage  a  minute, 
while  I  go  in  to  prepare  her — for  she  is  very  weak." 
Thus  speaking,  Mrs.  Perling  opened  the  door,  which 
was  unprovided  with  bell  or  knocker,  and  letting  the 
latch  down  softly  behind  her,  motioned  to  her  com- 
panion to  remain  where  he  was. 


CHAPTER    XYI. 

MAEY    FEELIXG   AT   HOME. 


STAXDIXG  in  semi-darkness,  Frederick  Galton  saw 
the  widow  open  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  passage, 
through  which  streamed  a  river  of  light  upon  the  white- 
washed walls  and  sanded  floor.  He  could  not  see  into 
the  room  itself,  but  could  hear  all  that  passed  in  it. 
Some  one  seemed  to  rise  with  haste,  and  yet  with  difli- 
culty,  and  there  was  a  sound  of  uneven  footsteps  hasten- 
ing to  meet  her. 

'^  Dearest  mother,"  cried  a  brisk  and  cheerful  female 
voice ;  "  how  quietly  you  stole  in  tipon  us." 

Then  there  was  a  hin-ried  embrace,  and  "  how  is  our 
dear  invalid  to-day  ?     How  is  my  beautiful  child  ?  " 

"'  I  am  well  enough,  mother,"  rejoined  a  third  person, 


172  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

at  whose  tones,  though  low  and  languid,  Frederick's 
heart  leapt  within  him,  and  the  love-light  came  into  his 
eyes.  ^'  I  am  not  worse  tJian  when  you  left  me,  and  no 
better.  But  you,  I  fear,  have  fagged  yourself  sadly 
about  that  situation  at  Lady  Acker's.  What  a  trouble 
I  am  to  everybody  about  me  ! '' 

"No,  no,  no,  my  pretty  one,"  replied  her  mother,  ten- 
derly; 'S'Ou  are  nothing  but  a  blessing  to  us  all.  If  we 
could  only  see  you  well  again,  we  should  be  as  happy  as 
the  day  is  long,  shouldn't  we,  Jane  ?  '^ 

"Ay,''  cried  the  brisk  voice,  "  that  should  we ;  and  we 
shall  see  it,  too.  Heaven  never  could  have  sent  our 
Mary  only  to  pine  and  fade.  The  idea  of  those  pretty 
cheeks  getting  hollow  and  sunken !  it  is  not  to  be  enter- 
tained for  a  moment !  no,  they  are  dimples,  that  is  all, 
and  the  color  that  is  gone  for  a  little,  is  soon  coming 
back  again,  isn't  it,  Bob  ?  Cherry  ripe,  cherry  ripe.^^ 
And  the  note  of  some  imprisoned  bird  began  at  once  to 
imitate  that  popular  melody. 

Then  there  was  a  sad  silence,  broken  by  little  sobs. 

"  Mary,  Mary,"  cried  the  brisk  voice,  earnestly,  "  O 
pray,  do  not  give  way  thus ;  you'll  break  mother's  heart, 
who  loves  you  so,  and  mine,  sweet  sister.  There  are 
brighter  days  in  store." 

"  Many,  many,  I  hope,"  added  the  widow,  confidently. 

"For  you,  dear  mother,  and  Jane,  I  hope  there  are," 
replied  Mary,  feebly ;  "  I  am  sure  you  deserve  them, 
which  I  do  not ;  I  have  been  of  no  use  in  this  world  to 
anybody.  A  vain  and  foolish  girl — a  wicked  girl.  You 
Avill  get  on  better  v\-hen  I  am  gone." 

Again  the  hasty  and  uneven  walk;  and  Frederick 
knew  that  loving  arms  were  being  thrown  around  the 
suffering  girl,  and  lips  pressed  to  Jiers  that  might  have 
drawn  forth  any  poison  from  a  wounded  heart,  save  that 
alone  with  which  love  tips  his  darts. 

"  Can  I  not  give  you  any  comfort,  my  own  dear  sister  ? 
Has  he  taken  all  power  from  me,  as  health  and  youth 
from  you  ?"  cried  a  passionate  voice. 


MARY     PEELING     AT     HOME.  173 

"  Hush,  hush/'  replied  the  sick  girl,  earnestly.  ^'  You 
dpn't  know  what  you  say.  I  had  rather  die  than  not  have 
loved  him  even  now.  How  hard  and  cruel  you  look, 
Jane  I  I  know  that  you  are  thinking  evil  of  him.  I 
would  rather  you  thought  evil — yes,  I  would — of  me. 
Ah,  if  you  could  only  see  him  !  You  say  that  I  am  fair ; 
his  face  is  ten  times  pleasanter  to  look  upon  than  mine. 
He  is  thoughtful,  like  yourself,  sister,  and  reads — why, 
he  reads  everything,  and  there  is  nothing  he  does  not 
know.  Then  he  is  an  author,  a  pcet :  I  could  show  you 
— if  it  were  not  that  he  has  forbidden  me  to  do  sc — the 
most  beautiful  verses ;  ah,  so  sweet,  so  sweet,  and  all  for 
me,  for  me  alone  ! " 

The  voice  that  had  been  somewhat  testy  and  irritable 
as  is  but  too  usual  Avith  the  best  of  us,  when  inadequate 
comfort — ''  the  vacant  chaff  well  meant  for  grain '' — is 
offered  to  our  aching  hearts,  here  dissolved  in  plaintive 
melody ;  the  speaker's  thoughts  were  once  more  with  her 
lover  and  the  happy  past. 

'^  I  have  read,  dear  sister,"  returned  the  other,  gravely, 
^'  that  it  LS  easy  for  those  who  have  the  gift  of  verse  to 
persuade  not  only  others  of  their  sincerity,  but  even 
themselves ;  I  do  not  say  they  lie — " 

"  Thank  you,  sister  Jane,"  interrupted  the  sick  girl, 
bitterly;  ^'that  is  very  kind,  and  like  your  charity. 
How  dare  you  tell  me  things  like  these  I — you  who  know 
not  what  it  is  to  be  l^eloved." 

'^  That  is  true,  dear  ^lary,"  responded  Jane  Perling, 
meekly.  "God  has  seen  fit  to  limit  my  love  to  my 
mother  and  my  sister.  Pray,  don^t  be  pained,  dear;  I 
know  you  did  not  mean  to  twit  me  with  my  lameness ; 
and  what  you  say  is  very  true.  I  do  not  know  what  the 
passion  is  with  which  this  man  has  inspired  you ;  and 
loving  you  so,  and  seeing  the  harm  he  has  done  you,'per- 
haps  I  judge  him  harshly." 

"You  do,  you  do,  Jane,"  cried  the  young  girl,  enthu- 
siastically. 

"  Still,  if  he  has  ceased  to  love  you,  Mary." 


174  MAE  EI  ED      BENEATH     HIM. 

"  Who  told  you  that,  Jane  ?  "  inquired  a  terrified  hol- 
lo^^•  voice^  which  Frederick  for  the  moment  did  not  rec- 
ognize. '^  If  you  want  me  to  die  at  once,  rei^eat  such 
words  as  those.  Xo;  don't  kiss  me,  please,  just  now  ;  I 
do  not  want  your  kisses.  If  I  was  away  from  home, 
look  you,  in  service,  or  somewhere,  so  that  I  could  not 
come  to  you,  and  they  would  not  let  me  write,  and  if  a 
man  came  hither — a  clergyman  even — and  told  you  that 
I  neither  cared  for  you  nor  mother,  would  you  believe 
him?"  ^  \  ^ 

^^  Indeed,  Mary,  we  never  should.'' 

^^But  if  he  told  you  truth.  If,  through  absence,  or 
constant  persuasion,  or  some  means  that  you  could  not 
even  imagine,  I  had  really  grown  so  as  to  forget  you,  or 
at  all  events,  to  agree  never  to  see  you  more,  and  to  en- 
deavor to  feel  as  tliough  I  had  neither  mother  nor  sister 
— would  you  straightway  forget  me?  AYould  your  love 
fade  away  as  quickly  as  mine  ?  Could  you  thenceforth 
live  merrily  on,  with  my  memory  blotted  out  of  your 
heart  also,  as  though  I  had  never  been  ?  Would  not  the 
days  we  have  passed  together  from  our  youth  up,  recur 
to  you,  even  though  you  strove  to  forget  them ;  our 
games  in  the  orchard,  our  feasts  in  the  summer-house, 
our  trips  on  the  river ;  the  nights  and  nights  we  have 
lain  awake  witli  our  arms  around  one  another's  necks, 
and  you  have  told  me  stories  of  your  own  weaving  ?  " 

"  I  should  remember  them  all,  Mary ;  I  think  I  should 
even  recollect  them  better  for  the  cruel  separation  between 
us  and  you." 

^^Then  how  much  more,  Jane,"  urged  the  sick  girl, 
solemnly,  "should  I  not  believe  the  wicked  falsehoods 
that  are  told  about — about  my  love.  And  if  I  did  believe 
them — which  I  do  not,  no,  I  v»-ill  not  think  he  has  for- 
gotten me,  although  he  is  so  wise  and  so  much  above  me 
every  way — do  you  think  that  I  could  forget  him  ?  Oh, 
never,  never  to  my  dying  day  !  I  should  love  him,  al- 
most the  better,  because  he  had  so  cruelly  forsaken  me." 

"  Then^  if  he  wrote  to  say  that  he  remained  faithful  to 


MARY     P  E  R  L  I  X  G     AT     HOME.  175 

you,  my  dear,"  quoth  Mrs.  Perling,  as  drily  as  slie  could, 
''  he  would  actually  lose  somethiug-  of  your  aiFectiou. 
While  if  he  came  in  person — " 

"  Mother,"  cried  the  young  girl,  eagerly,  ^^  you  have 
seen  him.  There  is  some  one  in  the  passage.  I  hear  a 
step  that  I  should  know  among  a  thousand.  Fred,  Fred, 
Fred!" 

Mary  Perling  rose  from  her  chair,  in  which  she  had 
been  sitting  before  the  fire,  propped  by  pillows,  and 
strove  to  run  to  meet  him ;  but  if  Frederick  Galton  had 
not  caught  her  in  his  ready  arms,  she  must  have  fallen 
through  sheer  weakness.  Her  looks  were  sadly  altered 
since  he  had  seen  her  last  at  Casterton,  and  yet  she  was 
not  less  beautiful  than  before.  She  had  never  wanted 
refinement,  but  a  certain  transparent  grace  pervaded  her 
now,  which  became  her  vastly.  A  stranger  Avould  have 
been  moved  to  tenderness  by  the  contemplation  of  those 
plaintive  eyes,  those  cheeks  so  waxen ,  wan ;  what 
wonder,  then,  that  the  young  poet-lover  threw  himself 
upon  his  knees  beside  her,  regardless  of  the  comfortless 
stones,  and  covered  her  attenuated  hand  with  a  hundred 
kisses. 

This  really  affecting  scene  took  place  in  a  kitchen 
— a  very  clean  one,  it  is  true,  with  everything  within 
it  briLshed  and  furbished  to  an  extent  rarely  seen, 
save  in  one  of  Her  Majesty's  lighthouses — but  still  a 
kitchen. 

Xow  that  the  wheelwright's  business  had  been  dis- 
posed of,  and  there  were  no  heavy-footed  men  to  come  in 
and  out  of  the  cottage,  making  a  "  caddie  "  everywhere, 
it  was  the  economical  custom  of  the  Perling  family  to 
iLse  this  apartment  as  a  sitting-room.  It  looked  out 
upon  the  yard  instead  of  the  garden,  indeed,  but  still  it 
was  a  cheerful,  comfortable  room  enough,  "  and  one  saves 
the  parlor-fire  in  winter,  and  the  wear  and  tear  of  the 
best  carpet,"  explained  the  v\-idow  in  apology ;  "  and  you 
see  Mary's  chair  is  quite  out  of  the  draught  fi'om  the 
scullerv-'door.     And  here  is  another  chair  for  vou,  Mr. 


17G  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

Gallon — -just  give  it  a  dust  with  your  apron,  Jane — and 
it's  well  if  you  haven't  worn  a  hole  in  the  knees  of  your 
trousers  already." 

Jane  Perliiig  was  lame,  and  limped  very  much  in  her 
walk,  as  we  have  mentioned,  and  she  had  not  a  pretty 
face ;  but  yet  it  was  a  very  interesting  one.  Nineteen 
men  out  of  twenty  would  have  preferred  her  sister's 
features,  but  if  the  angels  had  been  asked  their  opinion, 
it  is  probable  that  they  would  have  reversed  the  judg- 
ment of  humanity.  There  are  two  sorts  of  cheerfulness 
in  which  the  faces  of  some  women  are  dressed ;  the  one 
affected,  and  very  unbecoming,  which  seems  to  say :  "  I 
am  trodden  upon — I  am  despised — my  feelings  are 
always  being  injured,  yet  see  how  resigned  and  even 
cheerful  I  am;"  the  other  js  the  natural  garb  of  a 
chastened  spirit.  ^'  God  has  afflicted  me,"  it  says,  ^'  in 
His  good  pleasure,  but  it  is  not  for  me  to  afflict  others 
with  my  complainings.  I  am  cut  off  from  many  joys,  but 
not  from  the  greatest  of  all  joys — that  of  striving  to  make 
my  fellow-creatures  happy." 

Notwithstanding  her  infirmity,  Jane  Perling  was  an 
active,  brisk  little  body,  doing  the  work  of  two  ordinary 
people  in  admirable  fashion,  and  when  all  work  was 
done,  down  to  the  most  humble  tasks,  she  indulged  her- 
self with  mixing  mentally  in  the  very  best  of  company. 
Regatta  committees  and  the  like  took  no  notice  of  her, 
but  she  entertained  at  home  a  select  circle  invited  from 
her  own  bookshelf. 

She  stood  silent  and  blushing,  reflecting  upon  what 
:-he  had  said  against  Mr.  Frederick  Galton  in  his  hear- 
iiig,  and  wishing  it  unsaid  ;  but  when  that  young  gentle- 
man arose  and  offered  his  hand  with  a  pleasant  smile, 
she  knew  at  once  that  she  was  forgiven. 

"  She  is  my  only  sister,  sir,  and  very  dear  to  me ;  so 
pray  excuse  what  you  have  heard,"  observed  she,  simply. 

"  I  don't  excuse  it.  Miss  Perling,  because  I  applaud 
it,"  returned  he,  warmly.  "  I  hope  to  earn  goodwill 
from  you  as  genuine  as  that  distrust  I  have  involuntarily 


THE     VO^.  177 

Incurred.  I  would  far  rather  have  vou  for  mv  advocate 
than  my  antagonist." 

Jane' returned  the  pressure  of  his  fingers,  but  no  reply. 

"You  will  do  your  best  to  like  me  after  you  have  got 
over  vour  dislike?"  added  he,  reading  her  silence  aright. 

"  AVell,  I  couldn't  stop  her,  you  know,"  pleaded  the 
widow ;  "and  though  it  was  all  my  fault,  why,  it's  quite 
a  proverb  that  listeners  never  do  hear  any  good  of  them- 
selves. Xow,  you  and  Mary  stay  here  while  Jane  and  I 
get  breakfast  ready  for  you  in  the  parlor.  I  daresay 
you  have  plenty  to  say  to  one  another." 

Xor  could  St.  Chrysostom  of  the  golden  mouth,  nor 
the  eloquent  Demosthenes,  nor  any  other  agreeable 
speaker,  sacred  or  profane,  have  framed  a  sentence  more 
grateful  to  the  feelings  of  those  to  whom  it  was  addressed, 
than  were  those  few  simple  words  of  widow  Perling. 


CHAPTER    XVIL 

THE   YOW. 

SIXCE  even  the  homely  wheelwright's  widow  had  the 
delicacy  to  leave  the  two  reunited  lovers  alone 
together,  it  would  ill  become  us  to  invade  their  privacy. 
Sifffice  it  to  say  that  all  doubts  for  the  future,  all  fears, 
all  suspicions,  including,  perhaps,  some  vague  ones  of  his 
own  fidelity',  were  swept  away  from  Frederick  Galton's 
mind  in  that  single  moment  of  ecstasy.  My  advice  to 
parents  and  guardians  who  have  made  up  their  minds  to 
be  cruel  to  voung  people  who  are  consumed  with  affection 
for  one  another,  is  to  keep  the  two  igneous  bodies  at  some 
distance  apart.  Let  them  write  to  each  other  if  thev  will, 
defraying  their  own  postage;  let  them  exchange  "kisses" 
in  burning  wax — dropped  outside  the  envelopes ;  let  them 
11 


178  ^MAERIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

seal  with  a  Cupid,  or  a  true-lover's  knot,  if  they  please, 
but  by  all  means  keep  them  asunder.  One  touch  of  a 
soft  palm — and  this  is  supposing  less  tlian  generally 
happens  at  such  interviews — will  undo  the  work  of  a 
separation  extending  over  many  months  ;  before  one  flash 
of  a  pair  of  loving  eyes,  a  whole  host  of  prudent  resolu- 
tions will  vanish  like  an  army  in  the  clouds  at  the  stroke 
of  sunlight. 

^^  So  you  never  lost  your  trust  in  me,  Mary,  darling  ! " 
cried  Frederick  in  a  rapture  ;  '^  you  always  told  them  that 
I  should  be  true  and  firm.'' 

"  I  always  told  them  so,"  said  Mary,  softly,  and  casting 
down  her  lovely  eyes,  which  were  dewy ;  the  plentiful 
moisture  encumbered  the  flower,  and  weighed  down  its 
beautiful  head. 

"Then  you  didn't  quite  believe  in  me  yourself,  my 
own,  my — "     Here  followed  a  number  of  pretty  terms. 

"  I  scarcely  dared  to  do  so,  Frederick,  dear,  you  were 
so  far,  far  higher  than  I." 

"Nay,  love,  I  have  not  so  far  to  stoop,"  replied  he 
gayly,  and  I  am  afraid  he  illustrated  the  remark  by 
bringing  his  lips  down  on  a  level  with  her  own. 

"  I  didn't  mean  f/iaf,"  returned  Mary,  simply  (and 
we  contend  that  she  icas  simple,  against  all  the  ]\Iater- 
familiases  in  Christendom  who  may  lay  forefinger  in  rest 
against  her),  "  I  meant  that  you  are  a  gentleman,  and 
W'C  are  but  poor  people,  and — and — " 

"  My  dearest  girl,  I  am  as  poor  as  Job,  and  I  fear  I 
shall  have  to  exercise  no  little  of  his  patience.  I  have 
nothing  of  my  own  until  my  father  dies,  which  God 
forbid  should  happen  !  "  said  Frederick,  gravely.  "You 
and  I,  if  we  marry  early,  Vvili  have  to  live  by  the  pen." 

Mary  looked  up  wondering,  as  though  in  some  doubt 
between  sheepfolds  and  the  profession  of  literature. 

"I  got  three  pounds  sixteen  shillings  last  week  for  a 
little  contribution  to  the  Porcupine;  call  it  four  pounds, 
and  there  v^^ould  be  two  hundred  pounds  a  year  at  once, 
if  I  wrote  a  paper  every  v»'eek." 


THE     V  O  TV.  ^79 

The  youthful  author  looked  so  flushed  and  confident, 
t'nat  no  person  with  any  feeling  would  have  inquired  ho\v 
long  he  had  taken  to  compose  the  manuscript  in  question, 
or  how  many  had  been  written  in  vain,  and  were  manu- 
scripts — unprinted  paper — still. 

"It  is  pleasant,  Mary,  to  gain  money  by  one's  own 
exertions  even  for  one's  self;  and  how  much  more  so 
must  it  be  when  we  work  for  those  we  love.*' 

••  That  is  just  what  our  Jane  says  when  she  churns  the 
butter  I"  exclaimed  Mary.  "  I  used  to  think  it  very  hard 
work  myself,  the-few  times  I  tried  it,  but  she  says  that 
there  is  music  for  her  ear  in  every  turn  of  the  handle; 
and  as  for  putting  the  prints  on,  it's  a  treat,  for  she  cries 
out :  ^  Th^it's  for  mother  I '  when  she  stamps  the  butter 
with  the  forget-me-not,  and  *  That's  for  Mary!'  when 
she  uses  the  rose.  We  only  keep  two  cov.s  now ;  but  at 
one  time  we  had  quite  a  dairy,  and  Jane  used  to  take  the 
butter  to  market  herself,  in  a  big  basket  with  a  cloth 
over  it." 

"And  did  you  ever  take  butter  to  market,  Mary  ?  " 

''  Well,  once  I  did,"  replied  Mary,  "  and  only  once, 
for  I  didn't  quite  understand  what  to  do  about  it ;  and  I 
had  a  scarlet  cloak  on,  and  they  called  me  Little  Red 
Ridinghood." 

"'  I  don't  wonder  I  "  exclaimed  Frederick  with  admira- 
tion ;  "  and  I  could  eat  you  up,  you  darling,  as  the  wolf 
did  who  pretended  to  be  her  grandmother;  I  could, 
indeed."     Whereupon  ensued  more  raptures. 

Then,  after  a  discreet  cough  in  the  passage,  widow 
Perling  came  in  to  say  that  breakfast  was  almost  ready, 
and  should  she  show  Mr.  Frederick  to  the  room  to 
which  his  carpet-bag  had  been  already  taken.  Her  poor 
Charlie's  room  it  was,  who  had  been  drowned  at  sea, 
years  and  years  ago,  she  said,  or  matters  would  be  verv 
different  with  them  now  in  respect  to  money.  He  had 
been  an  engineer  in  all  manner  of  outlandish  places, 
at  one  time  even  in  Turkey;  and  was  thought  so  highly 
of,  that    he  was  sent  for  by  a  great  shipping   firm    at 


180  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

St.  Petersbnrgh,  and  perished  on  his  way  thither  in  a 
storm.  Upon  the  mantlepiece  were  some  models,  neatly 
executed,  of  various  machines,  and  one  very  rude  effigy 
of  a  fortress,  used  to  hold  spills,  *^  the  very  first  model 
as  my  poor  Charlie  ever  made." 

One  of  the  drawers  was  full  of  rusty  screws  and  little 
bolts  of  iron,  kept  as  sacred  relics;  and  there  Avas  a  por- 
trait very  ill  executed,  of  this  lost  genius  of  the  house  of 
Perling,  hanging  over  the  fireplace. 

^*  You  must  sleep  here  a  single  night,^^  quoth  Mrs. 
Perling;  "you  must  do  that,  after  being  deprived  of 
your  rest  so  long,  or  otherwise  I  should  have  liked  you 
to  return  to  Camford  at  once..  You  have  cured  our 
Mary  already,  that  is  evident ;  and  I  am  so  fearful  that 
your  being  here  will  get  you  into  a  scrape  with  your 
schoolmaster,  or  whatever  you  call  him." 

"  There  will  be  ratlier  a  row,  I  am  afraid,"  observed 
Frederick,  seriously ;  "  but  don't  you  be  alarmed,  Mrs. 
Perling.  I  have  done  what  is  right  in  coming  hither, 
and  shall  have  plenty  to  say  for  myself  to  all  inquirers. 
I  should  not  care  much,  even  though  I  were  expelled 
from  Minim  Hall.  I  could  go  to  London,  and  earn 
my  own  living,  if  that  were  all.'' 

"  Xay,  Mr.^Galton,  but  I  trust  you  will  not  be  think- 
ing of  that.  It  is  far  easier  to  talk  of  such  a  thing  than 
to  do  it ;  and  people  who  have  been  brought  up  comfort- 
able, with  everytliing  provided  for  them,  have  no  idea 
how  difficult  are  bread,  and  meat,  and  clothes  to  come  by, 
which  have  seemed  such  a  matter  of  course.  Why,  my 
poor  Charlie  there,  he  was  in  town  a  month  supporting 
himself  upon  his  own  resources — for  a  certain  reason.  My 
poor  husband  and  he  had  quarrelled  about  his  refusing 
to  be  a  wheelwright,  and  stay  at  Oldborough  ;  and  he 
had  a  very  high  spirit,  and  left  his  home,  just  as  you 
might  do,  and  about  your  own  age;  and  he  was  a  clever 
young  fellow,  too,  if  ever  there  was  one.  You  may 
smile,  sir,  but  if  you  had  known  him,  you  would  have 
said  so — so  modest,  and  yet  so  wise  and  sure  as  he  was. 


THE     VOW.  181 

Ah  me !  ah  me !  And  being  brought  up  simply — 
although  he  was  never  stinted,  thank  God,  in  anything — 
he  was  better  fitted  to  cope  with  hard  fare  and  privations 
than  such  as  you.  But  he  couldn't  keep  himself  in 
London  with  all  his  wits,  and  he  wrote  me  a  letter 
under  the  rose — I  have  it  novr — to  beg  me  to  make  u]) 
matters  with  his  father;  and  so  I  did,  the  good  man 
being  ready  enough,  and  sick  for  his  boy  by  that  time. 
And  so  the  dear  fellow  came  back,  and  got  his  way,  and 
was  apprenticed  to  the  engineering  trade,  and  sent  hither 
and  thither  on  shipboard  till — till — till  he  was  drowned, 
poor  lad  !  It  is  not  well.  Master  Frederick,  I  fear  it  is 
not  well,  to  go  against  the  wishes  of  one's  friends."  And 
the  good  widow,  unnerved  by  the  reminiscences  she  had 
herself  evoked,  and  by  the  foreboding  which  she  had 
suggested  with  respect  to  Frederick  Galton  and  her 
daughter,  could  not  help  letting  fall  a  tear  or  two. 

^'  Your  son's  case  and  mine  are  very  different,"  said 
Frederick,  a  little  stiffly.  ^' Would  you  have  me  sacri- 
fice Mary  as  well  as  myself  to  a  conventional  prejudice? 
We  are  both  young — well,  very  young,  if  you  please — 
and  therefore  have  all  the  more  time  to  look  before  us. 
We  plighted  troth  to  one  another  last  winter,  and  have 
renewed  it,  if  it  wanted  renewal,  this  morning.  Winters 
and  summers  may  come  and  go  first,  bqt  your  daughter 
shall  be  mv  wafe.  Be  sure  of  that.  If  I  plav  her  false, 
may  God—" 

"Mr.  Galton,"  cried  the  widow,  interrupting  him, 
gravely,  '^  do  not  invoke  the  curse  of  Heaven  upon  you 
lightly.  I  have  done  what  I  hope  is  for  the  best  in 
bringing  you  here,  but  I  am  not  sure — I  honestly  tell 
you  that  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  have  done  right.  I 
have  a  mother's  love  for  a  daughter  threatened  with 
death  to  plead  in  my  behalf;  but  you,  generous  boy, 
have  only  the  rash,  headstrong  love  of  a  youth  for  a 
maiden.  You  would  never  wrong  her — the  God  of  the 
fatherless  forbid  ! — but  you  may,  it  is  possible,  I  say, 
that  yea  may  be  induced  to  desert  her.     It  does  not  seeni 


182  -M  A  E  Fv  I  E  D      B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HIM. 

possible  now^  because  you  have  just  seen  her,  and  are 
about  to  see  her  again  ;  but  once  more  separated  from 
her,  and  worked  upon  by  those  ^vho  have  every  right  to 
speak — your  uncle,  for  instance — '*' 

^'A  liar  I  ''  exclaimed  Frederick,  passionately. 

"Then  your  own  father — the  very  mention  of  his 
name,  see,  moves  you — has  he  no  right  to  say  ^ No/' 
there  being  so  many,  many  reasons  why  he  should  do  so. 
Therefore,  be  not  rash  with  thy  tongue,  and  let  not  thine 
heart  be  hasty  to  call  God  .to  witness,  since  he  is  in 
Heaven,  and  thou  upon  earth.'' 

The  widow  spoke  very  gravely,  but  without  a  touch  of 
sanctimoniousness  ;  it  was  easy  to  see  she  was  uttering  the 
dictates  of  her  heart. 

"  I  would  that  my  father  could  hear  you  speak,"  replied 
Frederick,  earnestly,  "  for  he  loves  good  people." 

Mrs.  Perling  shook  her  head. 

"I  am  far  from  jjood,  Mr.  Frederick;  and  if  it  were 
otherwise,  that  would  make  little  matter.  Gentlefolks 
like  to  marry  their  sons  into  good  families;  but  that 
is  another  sort  of  goodness  altogether.  I  can  only  do 
what  I  can.  From  henceforth,  our  Mary,  since  she  is 
going  to  be  yours,  shall  not  disgrace  you  by  doing  any 
handiwork  such  as  girls  in  her  station  would  have  to  do, 
although,  indeed,  the  dear  child  has  ever  been  as  a  flower 
of  the  field.  I  shall  send  her  to  Lady  Ackers's  very 
shortly — for  a  change  of  scene  is  necessary  for  her — as 
was  intended;  but  not  as  any  sort  of  servant.  The 
housekeeper,  Mrs.  Mettal,  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and 
lias  her  ladyship's  license  to  act  entirely  as  she  pleases 
with  Mary.  For  the  rest,"  sighed  the  widow,  "  we  must 
leave  things  to  take  their  course,  hoping  all  will  turn  out 
well,  and  with  God's  blessing;  but — " 

"  But,  but,"  exclaimed  Frederick,  impatiently  ;  "  why, 
my  good  lady,  you  are  all  buts.     But  what  ?  " 

"But  the  breakfast  is  waiting,  and  I  am  hindering 
you,"  replied  Mrs.  Perling,  with  forced  gayety.  "  I  only 
spoke  to  you  just  those  few  words,  and  I  wish  they  had 


T  H  E      V  O  W.  1  83 

been  fewer,  since  they  have  put  you  out,  because  my 
heart  was  very  full ;  but  it  shall  not  happen  again,  Mr. 
Frederick,  during  your  stay.  We  are  very  homely  folks, 
but  I  hope  we  may  make  you  comfortable,  and  that  you 
will  enjoy  yourself" 

And  Mr.  Frederick  Galtou  did  enjoy  himself  very 
completely.  He  remained  but  a  day  and  a  night  at  the 
cottage,  so  that  much  that  might  otherwise  have  struck 
him  as  coarse  and  vulgar,  only  appeared  to  him  novel ; 
it  was  less  like  four-and-twenty  hours  of  actual  life,  than 
acting  a  charade;  and,  moreover,  the  principal  char- 
acter of  the  piece  was  independent  of  all  accessories, 
and  while  she  was  on  the  stSw,  its  furuishingjs  were  of 
little  moment. 

Frederick's  presence  seemed  to  have  worked  a  charm 
upon  the  invalid  beauty,  and  although  she  had  not  pre- 
viously left  her  chair  by  the  fire  for  days,  she  accompa- 
nied him  for  hours  out  of  doors,  not  walking,  indeed, 
but  sauntering  after  lovers'  fashion.  He  plucked  her  a 
posy  in  the  little  garden,  and  then  they  strayed  through 
the  apple-orchard,  down  to  that  inevitable  summer-house 
bv  the  river-side.  The  waters  leaped  and  roared  over 
the  weir  close  by,  and  it  was  the  last  place  one  would 
think  adapted  for  conversation,  besides  being  slightly 
damp;  vet  they  remained  there  with  great  content,  whis- 
pering fondly  of  the  future.  It  was  early  June  with 
them,  as  with  the  gleaming  woods. 

They  even  visited  the  cow-house,  where  they  found 
Miss  Jane  Perling  sitting  upon  a  three-legged  stool,  and 
employed  in  an  earlier  stage  of  the  butter-process  than 
that  of  churning.  "  The  girl  is  busy,"  explained  she, 
'•  helping  mother  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  thought  I  might 
make  myself  useful  in  this  way.  Colly  knows  me,  and 
would  not  kick  upon  any  account."  Whereupon  the 
gentle  creature  turned  its  tender  eyes  upon  its  mistress, 
vearningly,  and  made  as  though  it  would  caress  her  with 
its  large  rough  tongue. 

"  Even  the  dumb  animals  love  Jane,"  said  Mary,  as 


184  MAERIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

she  and  Frederick  sauntered  forth  l)eneath  the  limes ; 
"nor  is  there  a  workman  yonder  who,  after  his  day's 
labor,  would  not  walk  ten  miles  to  please  her.  I  wish  I 
was  as  good  as  Jane." 

"  You  are  good  enough  for  me,  at  all  events,  Mary 
mine,"  replied  Frederick,  laughing;  "why,  you  are  all 
excellent  people.  Your  sister  is  perfect,  doubtless  ;  but 
for  my  part,  I  prefer  a  being  just  a  little  short  of  an 
angel." 

"Nay,  don't — don't  laugh  at  Jane,  Fred.  She  will 
learn  to  love  you  in  time  almost  as  dearly  as  I  do.  Even 
now  she  says  she  does  not  wonder  that  you  have  stolen 
my  whole  heart." 

'"She  said  that,  did  she?"  cried  Frederick,  greatly 
pleased.     "  Then  I  will  try  to  steal  some  of  hers  too." 

So,  before  he  left  the  cottage  the  next  morning  on  his 
ret.urn  to  Camford,  he  took  the  lame  girl's  hand  within 
his  own,  they  being  for  a  moment  left  together,  and 
"Please  unlearn,"  said  he,  "some  harsh  things  you  have 
taught  yourself  respecting  me,  and  tell  me  what  I  can  do 
to  win  your  regard." 

"  My  regard  is  nothing  worth,  Mr.  Galton,"  returned 
she,  with  energy ;  "  but  if  you  would  have  Heaven  bless 
you,  do,  sir,  treat  our  poor  Mary  well.  You  love  her 
now,  and  ah,  how  she  loves  you!  But  after  a  little, 
perhaps — " 

"  My  word  is  solemnly  ])ledged  to  marry  your  sister," 
said  Frederick  a  little  stiffly,  "and  even  if  my  heart 
were  not  in  accord  with  it,  I  should  keep  my  word." 

"  Yes,  you  will  marry  her  doubtless ;  that  must  be,  I 
see,"  responded  Jane.  "  But  after  marriage,  bear  with 
her,  sir;  do  not  be  bitter  against  her  for  this  and  for  that." 
She  clasped  her  fingers  tightly  together  in  her  passionate 
prayer.  "  Remember  that  you  wooed  her  first ;  that  your 
very  presence  was  a  wooing  to  such  as  she.  Her  humble 
birth,  her  homely  bringing-up,  you  will  never  visit  them 
on  her  as  though  they  were  crimes — oh  no,  oh  no.  AVe 
will  not  trouble  you — neither  my  mother  nor  I — we  will 


THE     VOW.  185 

not,  indeed ;  it  would  be  unsuitable,  I  know ;  we  must 
keep  apart  from  her  henceforth.  Only,  if  she  is  ill,  sir, 
you  will  let  us  both  come  and  kiss  the  cheek  that  it  is 
yours  to  caress,  but  ours  to  weep  over  also,  in  sickness 
and  in  sorrow,  and  which  we  should  love  just  as  well  as 
though  disease  should  mar  it,  or  the  damps  of  death  were 
gathering  there.  God  keeps  the  few  he  makes  like  her 
in  His  own  charge:  beware  how  you  harm  her;  His 
vengeance  will  be  swift  and  terrible.  But  you  will  not 
incur  it — no,  no.  Oh,  Mr.  Galton,  promise  me  that  you 
will  treat  our  Mary  well  I " 

She  poured  out  her  appeal  with  such  impetuous 
rapidity,  that  he  to  whom  she  made  it  could  not  have 
interrupted  her,  even  if  he  had  disregarded  her  uplifted 
finger,  entreating  to  be  heard;  and  just  as  she  had 
finished,  IMary  herself  entered  the  room,  so  that  reply 
was  rendered  impossible.  Then  adieux  had  to  be  made 
of  a  private  character ;  and  the  widow  herself  accompanied 
him  on  the  road  to  the  station,  and  only  left  him  at  the 
door  of  the  ticket-office.  But  when  Frederick  was  en- 
sconced in  his  carriage,  the  sole  first-class  passenger  from 
Oldborough,  and  the  bell  for  starting  was  ringing,  there 
mixed  with  the  sound  a  hasty  and  uneven  tread  upon 
the  wooden  platform,  and  Jane  Perling  hurried  to  the 
windows. 

''  You  did  not  promise/'  she  whispered  hoarsely,  and 
out  of  breath — '^you  forgot  to  give  me  your  sacred 
promise  to  treat  our  Mary  well." 

*^I  will  do  so  upon  my  sacred  word  of  honor,  Jane." 

"  Here  is  a  book  ;  it  is  all  I  have  to  give ;  but  I  should 
like  you  to  accept  it,  sir.     It  is  the  Testament." 

"I  understand  you,  Jane,"  said  he.  So  he  took  the 
book,  and  kissed  it,  and  swore  upon  it,  so  help  him  God, 
to  love  and  cherish  Mary  his  future  wife  to  his  life's  end. 


186  MAERIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

CHAPTER    Xyill. 

THE   PRINCIPAL    IX    HIS   STUDY. 

FOR  an  undergraduate  son  of  Alma  Mater  to  absent 
himself  for  two  nights  and  two  days  Avitliout  her 
leave,  is  a  very  serious  oifence ;  nor  is  it  to  be  by  any 
means  mitigated  by  the  statement  that  the  oifender  has 
only  gone  a-courting.  The  passion  of  love  is  strictly 
forbidden  by  university  statute;  the  only  legitimate 
channel  for  its  expression  being  the  construction  of  Greek 
Sapphics,  an  outlet  only  available  to  classical  men.  Every 
tutor  is  vowed  to  celibacy  ;  every  dean  is  a  priest  of  Vesta, 
and  if  lie  ever  ventures  to  marry,  is  immediately  buried 
alive — in  some  country  living.  The  heads  of  colleges,  it 
is  true,  are  Benedicts;  Imt  they  rarely  wed  until  they 
have  reached  their  grand  climacteric,  and  are  only  per- 
mitted to  do  so  as  a  caution.  It  was  supposed  by  the 
royal  and  benevolent  founders  that  such  persons  would 
be  the  very  last  to  sympathize  with  youthful  slaves  of  the 
softer  passion,  and  that  they  would  chastise  them  severely 
from  the  genuine  conviction  that  such  chastisement  would 
be  for  their  own  good. 

Mr.  Frederick  Galton  did  not  expect  much  sympathy 
from  the  venerable  chief  of  Minim  Hall,  with  the  feel- 
ings that  had  prompted  his  unlicensed  expedition,  and 
when  the  porter  told  him  upon  his  arrival  in  college  that 
his  presence  was  required  at  the  Lodge, without  delay,  he 
knew  that  the  interview  would  be  the  reverse  of  agreeable. 

"I  hope  you  will  come  well  out  of  it,  sir,"  said  the 
official,  touching  his  cap ;  ^^  but  the  Principal  is  exceed- 
ingly put  out.  He  sent  a  special  messenger  to  your 
people  yesterday,  and  your  uncle,  Mr.  Morrit — and  well 
I  know  him,  and  a  thorough  gentleman  he  is — came  to 
the  Lodge  last  night,  and  has  only  left  it  a  couple  of 
hours  ago/^ 


1  H  E      r  i;  1  -N  <    i  1'  A  L      1  .N      H  1  b      .>5  T  L'  D  Y.        Ib'l 

'Mh,  indeed,"  re(3lied  Frederick,  tlioughtfully ;  '^  I  am 
glad  you  told  me  this,  John." 

''I  thought  it  was  right  you  should  know,  sir;  and 
don't  you  be  too  downcast,  Mr.  Gralton,  no  matter  what 
rigs  you  may  have  been  running:  the  Principal  will 
never  expel  you,  I  am  right  sure  of  that,  for  let  alone 
what  a  friend  he  is  of  your  uncle's  I  never  saw  him  take 
to  any  young  gentleman  as  he  has  taken  to  you.  You'll 
probably  be  convened — that's  all." 

^'And  what's  that,  John  ?  "  inquired  Frederick,  smil- 

"Why,  you  are  politely  invited  to  the  Senate-house, 
and  the  Vice-chancellor  sits  in  a  big  chair  and  gives  you 
a  bit  of  his  mind,  by  way  of  a  keepsake.  Only,  if  you 
are  too  early  for  him,  sir,  don't  sit  in  the  big  chair  your- 
self, as  Mr.  Careless  of  our  Hall  did  when  he  was  con- 
vened, because  it's  considered  a  liberty." 

The  porter  rubbed  his  hands  with  excessive  enjoyment 
at  this  reminiscence  of  undergraduate  audacity  ;  but  Mr. 
Galton  was  not  so  pleased.  He  was  thinking  how  ex- 
tremely unpleasant  it  would  be  to  have  to  listen  to  the 
Vice-chancellor's  remarks  upon  his  visit  to  Old  borough, 
delivered  from  a  chair  of  state  in  the  Senate-house.  They 
might  expel  him  if  they  chose — it  would  only  be  begin- 
ning his  literary  life  a  year  or  two  earlier — but  convene 
him  they  should  not.  What  other  obsolete  and  curious 
punishments  the  authorities  might  use,  he  did  not  know ; 
but  he  should  weigh  them  well  before  submitting  to  them. 
Milton,  it  is  true,  was  said  to  have  been  whipped  at  the 
buttery-hatch  of  his  college;  but  then  he  had  no  such 
future  before  him  as  was  promised  to  himself;  the  Pater- 
noster Porcupine  had  not  been  started,  and  if  it  had  been, 
the  author  of  Paradise  Lost  could  never  have  made  his 
living  by  the  periodicals.  In  this  heroic  frame  of  mind, 
our  truant  sought  the  Lodge,  which  he  had  never  visited 
hitherto  save  as  a  friendly  guest,  and  was  ushered  into 
Dr.  Hermann's  study. 

The  Principal  was  seated  at  his  desk,  and  waved  the 


188  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

young  man  to  a  seat  at  the  further  end  of  the  room  with- 
out rising.  He  looked  very  grave,  and  a  little  pompous, 
yet  there  was  sorrow  in  the  looks  of  the  learned  man, 
and  in  his  tones  also. 

"  I  am  very  grieved,  Mr.  Gal  ton — I  regret  exceedingly 
that  your  father^s  son  should  have  behaved  as  you  have 
done.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  I  had  begun  to 
entertain  for  you  an  unusual  regard.  I  have  not  been  so 
concerned  about  an  offender  in  statu  jnqnUari  for  many 
years.  But  also,  sir,  I  have  scarcely  ever  before  had  to 
take  cognizance  of  so  grave  an  offence.  The  absenting 
yourself  without  leave  from  any  authority  of  the  college 
for  three-and-forty  hours — it  is  monstrous,  it  is  unex- 
ampled. I  must  do  my  duty,  sir ;  I  must  not  suffer  con- 
siderations of  private  friendship  to  weigh  with  me  one 
feather/' 

"  I  am  sure,  sir,  that  you  will  only  do  what  is  right," 
observed  Frederick,  quietly.  He  had  a  genuine  liking 
for  Dr.  Hermann,  and  was  prepared  to  be  as  submissive 
— in  behavior  at  least — as  possible,  since  he  knew  that 
that  sort  of  incense  was  very  acceptable  to  the  Principal 
of  Minim  Hall. 

"iS[ow  look  you  here,"  continued  the  doctor,  mollified 
by  the  young  man's  tone  and  air.  "  I  do  not  ask  where 
you  have  been,  or  what  you  have  been  doing,  because 
there  is  no  necessity  for  such  a  cjuestion.  I  know  as  well 
as  if  I  had  been  told  [Frederick  bit  his  lips  to  prevent  a 
smile]  that  you  have  been  beguiled  by  some  designing 
female.  I  am  right,  you  see.  What!  I  am  not  right? 
Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  did, not  leave  Minim  Hall 
the  night  before  last  in  order  to  visit  some — some  young 
person  of  the  opposite  sex  ?  " 

"I  do  not  deny  that,  sir,"  replied  Frederick;  ^^  but  I 
deny  that  she  is  a  designing  female.  In  the  note  I  left 
behind  me,  addressed  to  yourself,  I  said  I  would  explain 
all  to  you  on  my  return  without  reserve." 

"  Hush  !  hold  your  tongue ;  be  quiet !  "  whispered  the 
doctor ;  then  raising  his  voice,  he  added  :  '^And  you  found 


THE     PRINCIPAL     IX     HIS     STUDY.       189 

your  father  well,  did  you  ?  I  am  glad  to  hear  it — 
There's  somebody  at  the  door.  I  think.  jOome  in." 

The  door  opened  just  sufficient  space  to  admit  the  thin 
face  of  Mrs.  Hermann.  "I  did  not  know  you  were 
engaged/'  she  said:  "you  haye  somebody  with  you, 
haye  you  not  ?  " 

"  INIr.  Galtou  is  here/'  answered  the  doctor,  dryly. 

"  Dear  me ! "  exclaimed  Euphemia,  putting  her  head 
in  a  little  way,  and  suryeying  Frederick  as  sightseers 
look  at  murderers  in  jail. 

'^  Don't  rise ;  pray  don't  rise.  AVe  thought  we  should 
neyer  see  you  back  again.  What  a  yery  singular  thing!" 

"Madam/'  obseryed  the  doctor,  grayely,  "I  must  beg 
of  you  to  retire.  We  are  talking  upon  matters  of  a  pri- 
yate  nature." 

"I  wouldn't  interrupt  you  for  the. world,"  replied  the 
lady  earnestly,  her  eyes  reiterating  -their  first  inquiry. 
"  We  wonder  what  this  young  gentleman  can  haye  been 
at?     I  hope  there  is  nothing  serious.  Principal  ?" 

"  Xothing  at  all,  madam.     Please  to  close  the  door." 

Euphemia  obeyed;  but  not  until  the  rustle  of  her  silk- 
gown  had  died  away  in  the  passage  did  the  doctor  resume 
the  conyersation.  "Your  letter,"  said  he,  "fell  by  mis- 
take into  my  wife's  hands.  Hayins:  seen  so  much  more 
of  you  than  is  customary  in  the  case  of  other  young  men, 
she  is  naturally  interested:  it  is  most  important,  howeyer, 
that  the  nature  of  your  offence  should  not  transpire. 
The  shock  to  a  person  of  Mrs.  Hermann's  sensitiyeness 
would —  Dear  me,  a  designing  female  of  inferior  con- 
dition— and,  goodness  gracious,  what  a  child  I  Why,  do 
you  know,  younor  gir,  that  I  did  not  marry,  myself — I 
did  not  dream  of  marrying — until  I  was  old  enough  to 
be  your  grandfather  ?  " 

Frederick  was  perfectly  aware  of  this  fact,  but  his 
features  expressed  the  amount  of  astonishment  that 
seemed  to  be  demanded. 

"  I  fell  in  loye  when  I  was  a  boy  like  you,  of  course, 
and   I    scrambled    out  of  it   as:ain,    not    without   some 


190  MARRIED     BENEATH 


ti'ouble. — But  to  leave  Minim  Hall  vrithoat  permission,  for 
two  (lays  and  nights,  on  account  of  being  in  love?"  The 
doctor's  breath  was  fairly  taken  away  by  the  contempla- 
tion or  this  enormity,  notwithstanding  that  it  had  pre- 
sented itself  upon  one  or  two  occasions  before.  "  ^Vhy, 
do  you  know,  Mr.  Frederick  Galton,  that  youths  luxve 
been  expelled  from  college  for  less  crimes?" 

'^I  have  committed  no  crime,  Dr.  Hermann,"  quoth 
Frederick,  bv-^ldly;  *^  although"  my  uncle  has,  doubtless, 
plated  my  conc^act  before  you  in  its  worst  light.  I  have 
simply  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  a  certain  young  lady." 

"  Young  lady  ? "  oxclaimed  the  Principal,  arching  his 
eye-brows. 

'^  Young  woman,  then,  if  you  please,  sir,"  responded 
the  vouno^  man  with  fashino;  eves:  ^'at  all  events,  she 
will  be  my  wife." 

"  But  if  you  are  axpeL'e  1^  "  observed  the  doctor,  tent^  - 
tively,  for  he  had  begun  to  lose  faith  as  respected  thi.; 
particular  case  in  the  very  strongest  medicines  to  be 
found  in  the  university-cLe^t — "  what  would  vou  d</ 
then?" 

"  In  all  probability,  I  should  marry  her  at  once,"  re^ 
plied  the  undaunted  under-gradoate. 

"This  is  dreadful !  "  exclaimed  the  Principal,  solilo- 
quising. "This  is  worse  than  anything  I  ever  heard  of! 
The  poor  dear  boy  has  lost  his  witS;^  and  is  simply  mad 
to  get  married,  that  is  all. — Xow,  listen  to  me,  Galton. 
and  remember  who  I  am." 

'•  I  remember  perfectly  well,  sir,"  said  Frederick, 
smiling.  "  The  Principal  of  my  college,  and  p  gentleman 
who  has  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"And  who  wishes  to  be  kinder  still,"  replied  the  doc- 
tor, in  a  tone  of  genuine  pity;  "pray  believe  "^^bat  and 
more,  or  you  will  think  I  have  no  right  to  tell  you  what 
I  am  about  to  tell.  I  have  no  son  of  my  own,  as  you 
know,  Frederick  Galton  ;  and  protest  my  heart  yearns 
towards  you  as  though  I  were  your  father.  !My  friend 
Morrit's  relationship  made  me  take  some  interest  in  you 


THE     PRINCIPAL     IN     HIS     STUDY.       191 

at  the  first,  bat  I  soon  got  to  like  you  on  your  own 
account.  Everybody  likes  you,  lad.  I  do  not  say  it  to 
flatter  you,  but  only  because  it  is  the  truth.  You  are  a 
favorite  with  women  and  with  men.  Euphemia  has 
taken  a  great  fancy  to  you,  which  is  not  usual  with  her, 
I  assure  you ;  very  far  from  it.  Miss  de  Lernay — you 
may  well  blush — has  something  more  than  a  fancy  for 
you,  unless  I  am  much  deceived.  Her  father,  an  admira- 
ble judge  of  human  nature,  speaks  of  you  with  enthu- 
siasm. As  you  advance  in  life,  you  will  make  a  multi- 
tude of  friends  useful  to  you,  and  conducive  to  your 
happiness  in  every  way ;  but  by  making  a  low  marriage, 
you  will  paralyze  this  faculty  of  yours  ^t  the  outset. 
You  will  see,  too,  many,  many  persons  of  the  other  sex, 
who  might  have  made  a  flir  better  wife  than  she  with 
whom  you  are  now  infatuated,  and  would  have  been 
willing  to  have  become  so.  Your  circle  of  female 
acquaintance  has  hitherto  been  ridiculously  narrow.  Be- 
ware, lest  hereafter  you  shall  involuntarily  make  invidi- 
ous comparisons  when  it  is  too  late.  Have  you  ever 
compared,  for  instance,  this  young  person  you  have  in 
your  mind  with  Eugenie  de  Lernay  ?  " 

The  unexpectedness  of  this  inquiry  would  perhaps 
have  been  sufficient  of  itself  to  heighten  Frederick's 
color,  but  not,  as  the  doctor  rightly  concluded,  to  turn 
him  scarlet.  "1  love  a  simple  village  maiden,  who  loves 
me  in  return,  sir,''  returned  Frederick,  simply,  after  a 
little  pause.  ^^She  is  above  me  in  many  things — in 
purity,  in  unselfishness,  in  goodness  of  all  kinds ;  and 
she  is  beneath  me  in  nothing  in  which  I  am  not  also  at 
least  as  inferior  to  Miss  de  Lernay.  I  answer  your  ques- 
tion, but  I  feel  that  I  have  no  right  to  speak  of  that 
young  lady  in  that  way." 

^^  Being  a  high-born  damsel,"  remarked  the  doctor,  ^'^a 
lady  of  exquisite  grace  and  manners,  and  the  daugliter 
of  ojie  who  has  been  the  ornament  of  courts,  and  has  a 
right  to  look  higher  for  an  alliance  for  her  than  to^-he 
son  of  a  village  doctor.     Some  notion  of  this  kind  has 


192  MAERIED     BE^'EATH      HIM. 

probably  crossed  your  mind,  although  never  seriously^ 
your  aifections  being  otherwise  engaged/^ 

"  Well,  really,  sir,  it  seems  absurd  to  give  expression 
to  such  folly,  but  my  imagination  is  not  always  under 
my  control,  and  I  confess  that  such  an  idea  mav  have 
once  or  twice  occurred  to  me,  to  my  shame." 

'' Exactly,"  replied  the  doctor,  coolly;  "and  I  don^t 
wonder  either."  Then  he  rose  from  his  chair,  opened 
the  door,  and  looked  into  the  passage,  to  be  sure  there 
were  no  listeners,  locked  it,  and  then  resumed  liis  seat 
with  the  gravest  air.  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  Fred- 
erick Galton,  a  certain  secret,  which  involves  the  honor 
of  a  noble  family,  but  the  telling  of  which  will  also,  I 
believe,  conduce  to  its  happiness  as  to  yours.  It  is  a 
strange  and  terrible  story,  although  true  in  every  par- 
ticular, and  I  know  that  it  will  be  as  safe  in  your  cus- 
tody as  in  my  own ;  nay,  safer ;  for  it  is  impossible  that 
you  can  have  the  same  reason  as  now  presses  upon  me  to 
divulo;e  it  to  another. 


CHAPTEE    XIX. 

THE    LOST   SISTEE. 

^^  T  AM  not  a  good  story-teller,  like  Monsieur  de  Ler- 
-L  nay,"  coanuenced  Dr.  Hermann,  smiling  sadlv, 
'•'and  I  dare  say  I  shall  have  now  and  then  to  refer  to 
these  faded  leaves."  He  drew  out  from  his  desk  a  little 
packet  of  ancient  letters,  written  in  a  female  hand,  and 
opened  them  reverently,  one  by  one.  "These  are  from 
my  only  sister,  Emmeline,  now  with  God,  who  despatched 
them  to  me  from  the  very  house  where  the  circumstance 
I  am  about  to  relate  took  place,  and  at  the  very  time  of 
its  occurrence.  _   The  date  is  some  years  ago,  the  locality 


THE     LOST     SISTER.  193 

is  the  south  of  France,  and  the  dramatis  personce  are 
chiefly  a  certain  Count  Lamotte  and  his  two  daughters. 
My  sister,  who  was  of  a  very  independent  spirit'^ — here 
the  doctor  sighed—"  was  governess  to  the  younger  of  the 
children,  Julie,  and  companion  to  the  elder,  Marguerite. 
She  preferred  to  earn  her  own  living  in  that  manner — 
although  Heaven  knows  there  would  always  have  been 
a  home  for  her  with  me — and  to  do  so  abroad  rather 
than  at  home.  Count  Lamotte  was  far  from  rich,  nor 
was  he  liked  by  my  sister;  but  smallness  of  salary  and 
some  other  disagreeables  were  more  than  atoned  for  in 
her  eyes  by  the  friendship  of  Marguerite  Lamotte.  She 
was  older  than  this  girl  by  twenty  years,  old  enough  to 
be  her  mother ;  and  as  a  mother  she  lo\;ed,  she  doted  on 
her.  It  is  hard  to  judge  of  beauty  by  description,  but 
the  loveliness  of  Marguerite  must  have  been  something 
greatly  beyond  the  common.  Fairer  far,  be  sure,  than 
the  siren  who  is  now  beckoning  you  to  shipwreck,  ere 
you  have  left  the  very  shore  of  life ;  fairer  than  Eugenie 
de  Lernay,  for  my  sister  knew  her,  and  has  told  me  so ; 
fairest,  indeed,  as  it  would  seem,  of  womankind.^  They 
lived  in  a  small  country-house,  apart  from  society,  for 
the  count  had  mingled  with  the  best  in  more  prosperous 
times,  and  it  did  not  suit  his  pride  to  associate  with  the 
little  land-owners  about  him.  There  was  one  immense 
chateau,  indeed,  in  the  neighborhood  belonging  to  a  great 
lord,  but  this  was  rarely  occupied.  Its  master  did  not 
affect  pastoral  pleasures,  and  no  tenant  could  be  found 
rich  enough  to  pay  the  rent  of  so  princely  a  residence. 
So  the  days  in  Lozere  passed  very  quietly  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Cevennes  and  by  the  banks  of  the  growling 
Garonne,  so  that  one  would  have  thought  that  the  very 
last  spot  in  France  for  romance  to  visit  would  have  been 
that  apparently  unambitious  household.  I  say^  ap^^ar- 
ently,  because  its  head  was  secretly  forever  scheming  and 
contriving  how  to  regain  his  place  in  the  gay  world, 
which  he  had  lost  through  his  own  extravagances,  and  was 
often  aw-ay  from  the  family  in  Paris  for  weeks  and  weeks. 
12 


194  MAEEIED     BENEATH      HIM. 

"During  that  time  his  constant  theme  was  the  beaut}' 
of  his  (laughter  Marguerite — the  Lily  of  Lozere,  as  the 
country  people  called  her ;  and  he  was  always  regretting 
that  he  had  not  the  money  to  bring  her  out  in  Paris,  even 
for  one  season,  in  a  manner  befitting  her  rank  and  line- 
age. The  girl  lierself  would  rally  him  playfully  about 
this,  complaining  that  no  royal  personage  had  sought  her 
in  marriage ;  but  her  father  was  very  serious  in  his  sor- 
row, and  really  looked  upon  her  as  a  legitimate  means 
of  re-establishing  the  fortunes  of  his  fallen  house.  They 
talk  of  these  things  in  France  in  a  more  open  manner 
than  we  do,  although,  perhaps,  English  fathers  are  not 
less  selfish  than  French  ones.  Moreover,  you  must  not 
suppose  that  the  count  did  not  love  his  daughter ;  he 
adored  her  with  an  affection  as  genuine  as  his  pride  itself 
Iso^y  after  my  sister  had  resided  with  the  Lamotte  family 
nearly  two  years,  and  when  Julie  was  about  eleven  years 
of  age,  and  Marguerite  nineteen,  a  great  event  had  hap- 
pened in  the  district :  the  Chateau  JFlorac,  which  I  have 
mentioned  as  having  been  so  long  without  a  tenant,  was 
taken  by  a  Monsieur  Dubois.  This  gentleman  must 
needs  have  possessed  great  wealth  to  have  hire^l  so  noble 
a  domain  at  all,  but  it  was  evident  that  he  was  a  mil- 
lionaire at  least — a  description  of  person  less  common  in 
France  than  with  us,  and  quite  unknown  in  the  sim])le 
district  of  Lozere — for,  not  content  with  the  splendid 
furniture  of  the  mansion,  which  was  kept  up  in  all 
respects  as  though  its  owner  was  resident,  he  entirely  re- 
decorated all  the  reception-rooms.  This  was  the  vAore 
wonderful,  since  it  was  understood  that  he  had  only 
taken  the  house  upon  a  short  lease. 

"  Moreover,  he  did  not  seem  anxious  that  the  neigh- 
bors should  admire  his  magnificence.  A  fete  or  two — 
when  all  the  fountains  so  long  pealed  up  were  set  a-play- 
ing,  and  the  gardens  glowed  with  the  hues  of  rarer  flovr- 
ers  than  had  ever  before  graced  their  ])arterres — did 
indeed  delight  the  neighbors  upon  Monsieur  Dubois's 
first   arrival,      They   wandered   through    the   suites   of 


1  ri  E     L  o  .--  1      >  I  ^5  i  E  i( .  ii^b 

elegant  apartments,  vainly  endeavoring  to  price  the 
costly  furnitnre;  they  were  admitted  as  a  favor  to  gaze 
in  at  the  divan  which  their  host  had  erected  close  to  his 
own  chamber;  and  they  were  entertained  with  dishes 
the  nature  of  which  they  could  not  guess  at,  but  the 
taste  whereof  was  ravishing  to  the  palate.  But  these 
joys  were  few  and  fleeting.  Greatly  as  the  Lozere  folks 
were  impressed  with  ^Monsieur  Dubois^  the  feeling  was 
not  reciprocal.  He  soon  grew  tired  of  their  admiration, 
their  dulness,  their  unsophisticated  views  of  life,  and 
shut  himself  up  in  the  Chateau  Florae  with  his  secretary 
and  his  Xubian  servants.  Yes,  Monsieur  Dubois's  per- 
sonal attendants  were  two  blacks  of  saturnine  appearance, 
and  a  gentleman  who  was  called  his  secretary,  but  who 
might  have  been  termed  his  shadow.  AV h ere ver  Mon- 
sieur Dubois  moved,  he  moved ;  when  he  rode  out,  he 
accompanied  him  half  a  horse^s  head  behind ;  when  he 
drove  he  sat  on  his  left  hand ;  when  he  whispered  soft 
nothings  to  the  Lozere  ladies  at  his  entertainments,  the 
secretary  overheard  them  as  certainly  as  the  ears  for 
which  they  were  intended. 

"This  conduct  did  not  seem  to  excite  his  master's 
indignation  in  the  least,  however  embarrassing  it  might 
sometimes  be  to  the  third  party.  He  seemed  to  acquiesce 
in  it  as  one  of  the  disadvantages  of  his  own  greatness. 
It  was  not  becoming  that  a  person  with  his  rank  and 
importance  should  ever  be  without  some  confidential 
attendant.  Of  Monsieur  Dubois's  importance,  if  wealth 
can  confer  it,  there  could  be  no  doubt;  but  as  to  his 
rank,  there  were  infinite  uncertainty  and  suggestion. 
He  professed  to  be  a  French  gentleman  who  had  passed 
much  of  his  time  in  the  East,  since  its  luxury  suited 
him,  and  even  its  system  of  misrule.  He  avowed  him- 
self a  despot,  and  openly  advocated  a  form  of  government 
under  which  a  rich  man  might  behave  pretty  much  as 
he  pleased.  Laws,  he  said,  were  excellent  in  their  way, 
but  only  adapted  for  the  lower  orders.  His  behavior, 
too,  certainly  gave  the  impression  of  a  character  born  to 


196  MARRIED     BENEATH     HiM. 

be  obeyed.  Still,  there  were  not  wanting  folks,  and  par- 
ticularly after  the  fetes  at  the  Chateau  Florae  had  been 
discontinued,  who  averred  that  its  new  tenant  was  a 
nouveau  riche,  and  who  affected  to  detect  provincialisms 
in  his  speech.  Certainly  his  French  was  not  Parisian ; 
but  this  his  supporters  ascribed  to  the  fact  of  his  long 
residence  in  foreign  lands,  and  protested  that  for  their 
parts,  they  thought  such  little  peculiarities  made  him  all 
the  more  distinguished.  As  for  his  being  dark,  and, 
indeed,  almost  copper-colored,  who  that  had  so  long 
experienced  the  burning  suns  of  Egypt  would  not  have 
suffered  in  his  complexion?  He  had  spent  much  time 
in  dilettante  examinations  of  the  Pyramids,  and  explora- 
tions of  Libyan  burying-places — at  that  period  a  much 
more  expensive  and  rare  pursuit  than  at  present;  and 
what  wonder  was  it  if  he  had  himself  grown  just  a  little 
like  the  mummies  which  he  had  exhumed  !  Several 
a])artments  in  the  Chateau  Florae  were  dedicated  to  these 
spoils  of  the  ancient  dead.  The  painted  boxes,  with 
hieroglyphics  and  figures  on  them,  which  their  owner 
could  read  like  letter-press;  the  Egyptian  deities,  which 
crowded  his  shelves,  with  some  dread  history  attached  to 
each  ;  the  garlands  of  amaranth  and  the  palm  rods  placed 
in  vain  by  reverent  hands  upon  their  beloved  de- 
parted tens  of  centuries  ago:  all  these  struck  an  awe  in 
their  beholders,  from  which  the  most  splenetic  of  the 
once  invited  were  not  wholly  exempt.  How  much  more, 
then,  must  all  these  wonders  have  wrought  with  those 
who  still  enjoyed  Monsieur  Dubois's  condescending  hos- 
pitality. 

"  This  gentleman  had  made  a  particular  exception  in 
his  self-withdrawal  from  Lozere  society  in  favor  of  the 
Lamotte  family,  The  count  was  the  only  man  who  was 
capable  of  appreciating  his  conversation,  and  who  could 
be  his  friend  without  sinking  into  a  flatterer. 

"  If  he  was  not  wealthy,  he  had  once  been  so,  and  life 
at  the  Chateau  Florae  was  accepted  and  enjoyed  by  him 
in  a  natural  manner,  without  that  slavish  gratitude  which 


THE     LOST     SISTER.  197 

marks  the  dull  and  ill-bred  when  partaking  of  the  hos- 
pitalities of  the  great.  He  behaved  like  a  man  who 
is  well-pleased  with  his  entertainment,  but  at  the  same 
time  is  conscious  that  he  has  brought  his  welcome  with 
him. 

^' If  the  conversation  in  the  divan  after  dinner  was  not 
always  edifying,  it  was  doubtless  agreeable  and  well  sus- 
tained; even  the  secretary's  dumb  and  spiritless  presence 
had  no  power  to  chill  the  lively  eloquence  of  Lamotte, 
who,  under  the  influence  of  good  fare  and  good  company, 
would  have  made  himself  pleasant  to  Pharaoh-Xecho 
himself,  smothered  in  seventy-fold  bandages.  Dubois, 
for  the  most  part,  let  him  talk  on,  throwing  in  an  intel- 
ligent observation  here  and  there,  to  convince  him  of  his 
attention;  and  by  this  means  won  the  regard  of  a  guest 
whom  it  was  not  easy  to  dazzle  by  mere  Si)lendor. 

^'  The  count,  who  was  rarely  depressed  at  any  time, 
positively  appeared  to  grow  young  again  under  these 
prosperous  circumstances,  and  blessed  the  hour  when 
Monsieur  Dubois  first  shone  upon  his  obscurity. 

"  ^  What  you  came  hither  for,  friend,  unless  guided  by 
my  good  genius  for  my  own  special  behoof,  I  cannot 
guess,'  observed  he  to  his  entertainer  one  day,  as  they 
lounged  as  usual  in  the  smoking  apartment,  each  with  a 
piece  of  amber  in  his  mouth,  and  the  bowl  of  his  pipe 
at  infinite  distance.  '  Why  on  earth  did  you  take  the 
Chateau  Florae,  vrhen  you  could  have  hired  the  Tuilleries, 
had  you  been  so  disposed?' 

"'Why  did  I  go  to  Egypt,  to  be  bitten  with  insects, 
to  be  poisoned  with  indilfereut  food,  to  be  bored  with 
idiotic  interviews  by  stolid  pashas?'  returned  Dubois. 
'  I  have  no  reason  for  anything  I  do,  but  only  whim. 
Ii  is  never  any  use  asking  me  questions ;  I  am  a  fool,  but 
then  I  can  afford  to  pay  for  my  folly.' 

''  The  host  spoke  with  gayety,  and  the  guest  listened 
with  a  smile ;  yet  the  former  meant  very  seriously  that 
he  did  not  wish  to  be  cross-examined  upon  his  motives, 
and  the  latter  understood  him  to  mean  so.     That  is  the 


198  M  A  R  R  I  E  D      J-  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

great  advantage  of  living  in  good  society;  we  learn  to 
perceive,  ^yith  a  sort  of  delicate  attraction  of  repulsion, 
what  others  dislike,  and  avoid  it  without  the  least  colli- 
sion*: the  magnet  informs  us  that  we  are  cruising  in  the 
dangerous  vicinity  of  some  loadstone  rock,  and  we  put 
the  helm  about  immediately.  This  admirable  svstem  of 
social  intercourse  has,  however,  its  disadvantages.  It  is 
impossible  to  ask  for  explanations  (except  at  the  sword's 
point),  or  to  inquire  for  Avhat  we  call  in  England  ^re- 
spectable references'  as  to  character — even  when  one's 
own  daughter's  happiness  is  concerned  in  the  matter.  It 
had  for  some  time  become  evident  to  Count  Lamotte 
that  ^lonsieur  D.ubois  had  set  his  affections  upon  Mar- 
guerite, notwithstanding  his  polite  and  frigid  demeanor 
towards  her;  indeed,  it  was  the  absence  of  the  light  and 
jesting  manner  which  the  tenant  of  the  chateau  adopted 
with  regard  to  other  females,  which  chiefly  made  ap- 
parent his  ])referencc  for  the  Lily  of  Lozere.  It  was  for 
the  better  prosecution  of  his  suit,  as  the  count  shrewdly 
suspected,  that  Monsieur  Dubois  had  given  up  his  great 
entertainments.  Among  the  very  few  guests  who  were 
now  invited,  he  could  pay  his  attentions  sufficiently  often 
to  ^lademoiselle  Lamotte  without  exciting  remark. 

"  It  is  my  sister  who  is  speaking,  of  course,"  explained 
Dr.  Hermann,  parenthetically,  looking  at  Frederick  over 
the  top  of  his  gold  spectacles,  and  then  reverting  to  the 
open  letters  before  him. 

'^I  understood  as  much,"  observed  the  young  man, 
smiling  inwardly  at  the  notion  of  the  Principal  of  Minim 
Hall  improvisino;  a  romance. 

"And  I  think,"  added  the  doctor,  "it  would  be  more 
intelligible  if  I  continued  the  story  in  her  own  words." 

"I  always  made  one  of  the  party  invited  to  the 
Chateau  Florae,  and  was  invariably  treated  with  the 
greatest  consideration  by  its  master.  'Still,  I  never  liked 
him,  even  on  my  own  account,  and  still  less  as  respected 
his  behavior  to  my  dear  girl.  He  would  address  to  her 
the    most   extravagant    compliments   wdth    his    features 


THE     LOST     SIS  TEE.  199 

clothed  ill  smiles,  which  he  gave  himself  do  trouble  to 
render  natural.  If  he  had  worn  a  mask  it  could  not  have 
been  more  evident  that  he  was  playing  a  part.  At  tliis, 
I  was  greatlv  iudi":nant.  AVas  this  man  so  wealthv  that 
he  could  alFord  to  bid  for  a  young  gentlewoman,  as  for  a 
mere  picture,  with  his  money  only,  and  without  the  pre- 
tence even  of  ordinary  admiration  ?  He  spoke  of  her 
indeed  to  me  and  to  her  father  with  the  highest  eulogies, 
but  no  trace  of  his  entertaining  such  sentiments  was  to 
be  observed  in  his  manner.  This,  said  the  count,  was 
the  grand  air,  and  should  rather  convince  us  of  the  high 
station  which  our  host  must  always  have  occupied  in  life. 
Love,  as  understood  by  the  lower  orders,  he  assured  me, 
was  totally  ignored  in  courts.  He  had  made  inquiries  in 
Paris  concerning  Monsieur  Dubois,  and  they  had  be^n 
eminently  satisfactory.  It  was  not  indeed  known  exactly 
who  he  was;  but  the  owner  of  the  Chateau  Florae  had 
received  from  the  ambassador  of  a  foreign  court  the  very 
highest  testimonials  regarding  his  tenant ;  while  his 
command  of  money  was  evidently  vrell-nigh  boundless. 
'Mv  daughter,^  said  the  count,  Svill  yet  enjoy  the  position 
to  which  slie  was  born,  and  for  which  nature  has  so 
eminently  fitted  her.'  It  was  curious  to  see  the  French- 
man's pride  overcoming  his  genuine  paternal  love,  and  to 
hear  him  talk  in  the  same  breath  of  Xature ;  but  it  was 
also  very  sad.  Marguerite  could  not,  of  course,  be 
ignorant  of  these  aspirations  of  her  father,  and  they  gave 
her  great  concern.  She,  poor  girl,  was  not,  I  daresay, 
without  her  ambition,  but  she  had  certainly  no  wish  to 
marry  Monsieur  Dubois.  She  would  not  have  liked  him 
better,  perhaps,  even  had  he  behaved  towards  her  as  a 
lover  should;  but  it  was  impossible  for  any  but  an  in- 
habitant of  the  Emerald  Island  to  reciprocate  an 
aifection  which  evidently  did  not  exist  in  the  other 
party.  When  the  offer  of  his  hand  was  made  at  last, 
it  was  made  to  the  count  over  the  chibouques,  and  he 
was  the  first  to  communicate  it  to  his  daughter  that  same 
evening. 


200  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

^^  ^  You  will  now  have  a  husband  every  w^ay  worthy 
of  you/  was  the  count's  rather  sweeping  eulogy.  'I 
congratulate  you,  my  Lily,  with  all  my  soul.' 

"'Is  it  Monsieur  Dubois,  or  his  secretary,  my  father?' 
inquired  Marguerite,  smiling  coldly. 

"  '  My  darling,  what  a  question  ! '  returned  the  count. 
'  What  is  the  secretary  to  us  ? ' 

^' '  Xothing,  father,  that  I  know  of;  but  he  is  every- 
thing to  Monsieur  Dubois — I  protest  that  the  gentle- 
man who  has  done  me  the  honor  of  proposing  to 
marry  me  has  never  addressed  me  save  in  the  presence 
of  that  attendant ;  and  I  honestly  believe  tliat  the  one 
has  as  great  (and  as  little)  regard  for  me  as  the 
other.' 

•  " '  The  true  and  lasting  love,'  observed  the  count,  de- 
murely, '  only  comes  after  marriage.  So  great  a  man  as 
Monsieur  Dubois — I  have  his  word  that  he  will  settle  a 
million  of  francs  upon  you;  and  see!  he  has  begged  our 
acceptance  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs,  in  order  that 
nothing  may  be  wanting  in  the  furnishing  forth  of  my 
Lily,  and  that  the  family  may  make  such  an  appearance 
in  the  meantime  as  may  not  disgrace  such  an  alliance — 
so  great  a  man,  I  say,  dare  not  commit  himself,  even  in 
love-making,  lest  by  any  accident  he  should  meet  with  a 
rejection.  Sot,  indeed,  that  I  suppose  any  girl  in  France 
would  be  so  mad,  so  blind  as  to  say  Xo — I  may  add,  so 
undutiful ;  since  no  father  could  be  otherwise  than  satis- 
fied with  the  prospect  of  such  a  son-in-law.  My  Lily 
weeps  at  the  idea  of  parting  with  her  beloved  parent, 
with  her  sweet  Julie,  with  her  dear  and  admirable  Miss 
Hermann  ;  but  I  am  certain — yes,  I  feel  certain  that  she 
is  sensible  of  the  greatness  of  the  offer  that  has  been 
made  to  her,  and  that  she  will  accept  it  thankfully.' 

"  '  Whatever  pleases  my  father  will  plea — will  seem 
right  to  me,'  replied  Marguerite  with  a  great  effort. 
And  the  count  kissed  her  with  devotion,  and  betook  him- 
self to  his  sleeping  apartment,  and  the  most  charming 
dreams. 


THE     K  I  D  N  A  P  P  E  K  S  .  201 

'^  But  Marguerite  Lamotte  and  I  passed  no  such  night : 
and  not  until  the  gray  dawn  touched  the  mountain  tops, 
(lid  she  close  her  weeping  eyes  and  sob  herself  to  rest 
at  last  upon  this  bosom." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

« 

THE   KIDXAPPEES. 

^^  "VTOTHIXG   more  passed  between  the  count  and 

_L.>I  his  daughter  concerning  her  engagement  w'ith 
Monsieur  Dubois.  It  was  silently  acquiesced  in  by'all 
parties.  It  w^as  fortunate,  ])erhaps,  that  the  bridegroom- 
elect  was  not  exacting  as  to  public  demonstrations  of 
affection  ;  while  as  to  private  ones,  the  opjiortunity  never 
occurred.  The  inevitable  secretary — calm,  imperturbable, 
dull — dogged  the  footsteps  of  his  master  as  an  engaged 
man,  even  more  than  he  had  done  so  when  he  was  fancy 
free. 

" '  Monsieur  Barbette  will  not  accompany  you  on  your 
marriage  tour,  I  conclude,  Dubois?'  said  the  count  one 
day,  wdth  the  nearest  approach  to  a  sarcasm  that  he  had 
ever  hazarded  to-his  future  son-in-law. 

"^Most  certainly  he  will,'  Monsieur  Dubois  had  an- 
swered. 'My  travelling-carriao^e  is  built  for  three  in- 
side.' 

''  The  count  shrugged  his  shoulders  until  they  touched 
the  tips  of  his  ears. 

'^  ^  Everybody  to  their  liking,  my  friend.  Since  your 
ideas  are  so  peculiar,  it  is  useless  to  ask  you  to  take  a 
French  valet,  or  at  least  a  white  man  (Monsieur  Dubois's 
dark  face  turned  several  degrees  more  dusky),  instead  of 
your  Xubians ;  for  my  daughter's  maid,  Kathleen,  an 
ignorant  Irish  girl,  but  true  as  steel,  has  taken  the  great- 
est horror  of  them.' 


20-2  MAEEIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

"  ^And  what  has  your  daughter's  maid  to  do  with 
my  Nubians  ?  '^  inquired  Monsieur  Dubois,  coldly. 

"  '  Xothing ;  except  so  far  that  as  they  are  to  be  fellow- 
travellers — ' 

"  '  Fellow-travellers  ! '  ejaculated  Monsieur  Dubois, 
with  amazement.  '  Where  ?  AYhither  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  ^ 

"  '  You  do  not  suppose  that  7ny  daughter — Marguerite 
Lamotte — will  leave  my  house  as  your  bride  without  an 
attendant?' returned  the  count  with  laborious  distinct- 
ness. ^I  do  not  know  much  of  Monsieur  Dubois,  but  I 
should  hope  it  was  not  necessary  to  point  out  to  him  the 
absolute  necessity  of  such  an  arrangement.'  The  tenant 
of  the  Chateau  Florae  turned  livid,  as  the  count  sup- 
posed, with  rage;  but  the  blood  of  the  Lamottes  was 
roused  in  the  latter  gentleman.  'Thousand  devils  I '  con- 
tinued he,  'you  cannot  stir  without  your  secretary,  and 
yet  you  will  not  permit  my  daughter  to  travel  in  a 
manner  befitting  her  station  ! ' 

''  There  was  a  dry,  husky  cough,  such  a  cough  as  is 
confided  to  the  hand  befoi^e  the  mouth  is  opened  for  a 
falsehood,  and  the  secretary,  who  had  entered  the  room 
without  the  least  noise,  was  heard  to  remark  :  '  Make  no 
difficulty,  my  master,  pray ;  let  us  take  the  young  woman 
also  by  all  means.' 

"  '  We  will  take  her,  then.  Kathleen  shall  accompany 
madame,'  said  Dubois,  hurriedly. 

" '  Sir,'  returned  the  count,  with  a  lofty  air,  '  I  thank 
you ;  I  feel  under  the  greatest  obligations — to  your 
secretary.' 

"A  lasting  coolness  sprang  up  between  Monsieur 
Lamotte  and  his  intended  son-in-law  out  of  this  trifling 
matter ;  but  it  unhappily  never  went  so  far  as  to  disturb 
the  matrimonial  project.  The  advantages  upon  the  side 
of  the  count  were  too  great  and  immediate  to  be  relin- 
quished ;  and,  indeed,  I  believe  he  had  already  spent  a 
portion  of  that  large  sura  in  ready  money  with  which 
Monsieur  Dubois  had  presented  him.     The  day  of  the 


THE     K  I  D  X  A  P  P  E  R  S  .  203 

t/wtirmis  was  appointed,  and  it  drew  nigh  with  frightful 
speed;  tnis  was  not  that  the  intervening  time  was  a 
happy  one — lar  fi'oni  it ;  but  because  it  was  precious  to 
us  all,  and  iijcalculably  so,  with  reference  to  that  which 
lay  beyond.  The  father  knew  that  he  had  sold  his 
daugliter  to  a  siranger  without  a  heart;  the  girl  herself 
had  not  one  single  ray  of  hope  to  cheer  her  in  the  con- 
templation of  her  future.  I  understood  the  wretchedness 
of  both  of  them,  and  shared  it.  My  Marguerite  was 
proud  to  most  j^ersons,  but  not  to  me.  She  did  not 
attempt  for  an  instant  to  conceal  from  me  her  utter 
misery,  one  half  of  which  only  was  caused  by  the 
thought  of  becoming  Madame  Dubois,  the  other  half 
by  the  thought  of  l&iA'ing  home.  All  that  she  loved, 
all  that  she  knew  in  the  wide  world  was  comprised 
within  the  walls  of  our  little  house ;  she  had  no  other 
relatives  save  Julie  auci  her  father,  no  other  friend 
but  me. 

"  Her  husband  vras  about  to  carry  her  away  at  once  to 
what  seemed  to  her  a  distant  part  of  the  earth. 

''  It  was  the  very  time,  he  said,  for  a  tour  in  the  East ; 
and  a  steam-yacht  was  already  waiting  at  Marseilles,  to 
carry  them  up  the  Mediterranean. 

"  ^  If  I  could  only  die  at  once,'  cried  she,  '  instead  of 
lingering  on,  it  may  be,  for  months  of  misery,  how  thank- 
ful should  I  be  I  What  is  life  to  me  with  ' — she  could 
not  even  pronounce  his  name,  but  only  shuddered.  '  How 
can  I  live  away  from  all  that  is  dear  to  me ! '  She  looked 
forth  from  the  window  upon  the  beloved  home-scene,  the 
valley  still  rich  with  green,  though  the  winter  was  far 
advanced,  and  the  Cevennes  were  w^hite  with  snow.  '  O 
why,  just  Heaven !  did  this  man  come  here  to  turn  my 
happiness  to  sorrow  ?  I  did  not  know  ho\Y  happy,  how 
blessed  I  was — and  now  it  is  too  late !  Emmeline,  watch 
over  Julie  when  I  am  gone.  Let  her  never  thus  be  sacri- 
ficed. One  sister  is  enough  to  be  offered  up  to  Mammon. 
How  wretched,  too,  is  my  poor  father;  and  when  I  am 
gone,  it  will  be  worse  for  him.     Do  not  let  him  reproach 


204  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

himself,  dear  friend ;  comfort  him  all  you  can.     Ah,  if 
we  were  but  rich  !  " 

Thus  did  the  dear  girl  outpour  her  heart  on  the  very 
night  before  her  wedding-day.  The  ceremony  was  as 
imposing  as  the  count  could  make  it.  Monsieur  Dubois 
had  counselled,  nay,  had  entreated  that  all  tilings  should 
be  conducted  in  as  private  a  manner  as  possible;  but  his 
father-in-law  for  once  had  overruled  him.  Since  the 
affair  was  scarcely  a  love-match,  it  should  at  least  reflect 
credit  upon  the  family,  and  fill  the  bosoms  of  his  neigh- 
bors with  unappeasable  envy. 

^^The  cono;ratulations  he  received  from  all  the  o-uests 
W'ere  of  the  most  extravagant  description.  . 

'''The  young  madame  would  be  nothing  less  than  a 
princess,'  they  said.  And  a  princess  she  looked.  Her 
bridal  attire  was  splendid  and  costly  enough  for  any  rank, 
and  she  moved  with  all  the  stateliness  of  a  queen.  Not  a 
touch  of  color  could  be  traced  in  her  noble  features;  yet 
she  never  looked  more  beautiful — more  like  the  Lily  of 
Lozere. 

"  To  the  spectators,  she  seemed  only  haughty,  stiffened 
with  native  pride,  and  sudden  elevation  to  fortune;  while 
in  truth  she  was  only  frozen  over — a  glittering  show, 
beneath  which  lay  a  breaking  heart  and  unutterable 
wretchedness. 

"  When  Julie  put  a  bouquet  into  her  gloved  hands,  I 
saw  them  tremble,  and  the  fingers  clutch  the  flowers 
rather  than  close  upon  them  ;  but  she  never  gave  way ; 
no,  not  even  when  the  good-by  came,  and  her  father's  own 
eyes  glistened  with  sorrow  and  secret  remorse.  Only  as 
the  travelling-carriage  drove  to  the  door,  she  looked  round 
with  a  sharp  anxious  glance  for  Kathleen,  who,  with  a 
nod  of  loving  reassurance,  seated  herself  upon  the 
rumble. 

"Inside,  with  his  back  to  the  horses,  sat  the  inevita- 
ble secretary,  at  which  arrangement  tlie  good  folks  of 
Lozere  could  not  conceal  their  unsophisticated  astonish- 
ment. 


THE     KIDXAPPEES.  20o 

"  '  Faix  and  it's  myself  that's  glad  he  is  not  here,'  re- 
marked Kathleen  in  reply  to  one  who  suggested  that  he 
should  have  been  her  travelling-companion;  ^and  like- 
wise that  they  have  not  set  me  by  one  of  them  Xubians.' 

"  This  faithful  creature  entertained  the  most  honest  and 
profound  dislike  not  only  for  the  Nubians,  and  the  secre- 
tary, but  for  her  new  master  also,  whom,  she  went  so  far 
as  to  tell  me,  she  believed  to  be  the  Father  of  Evil  him- 
self, very  inadequately  disguised.  Her  grounds  for  this 
conviction  were  manifold ;  but  she  mainly  relied  upon  his 
peculiar  color  and  ugliness;  his  keeping  a  familiar — the 
secretary;  and  his  disinclination  even  so  much  as  to  take 
the  hand  of  that  innocent  and  spotless  lady  her  mistress 
within  his  own.  ^  The  devil,  we  all  know,'  said  she,  '  or 
at  least  all  we  good  Catholics  do,  Miss  Emmeline — the 
devil  hates  holy  water,  and  for  some  similar  reason  this 
black  gentleman  dare  not  approach  ]Miss  Marguerite — 
thanks  be  to  Heaven  !  Why,  nobody  that  was  a  man 
could  have  helped  fallins:  in  love  with  such  a  darling  at 
the  very  first  sight;  and  here  he  has  been  courting  her 
these  three  months,  and  never  ventured  to  put  his  ugly 
lips  to  her  beautiful  brow  :  that  is  not  what  /call  court- 
ing, Miss  Emmeline;  and  you  may  take  my  word  for  it 
that  there's  something  uncanny  about  such  work.  Per- 
haps he's  waiting  until  she  does  something  wrong,  before 
he  dare  get  fond  of  her  :  he'll  have  to  wait  a  weary  time 
for  that,  for  Miss  Marguerite's  an  angel.  But  anyway, 
I'll  keep  my  eye  upon  him.  Fm  not  too  good.  Heaven 
be  praised,  to  be  a  match  for  anybody.' 

"And,  indeed,  Kathleen  was  my  only  hope  in  this 
calamity,  as  she  was  the  sole  proj)  and  stay  of  her  unfor- 
tunate young  mistress. 

^'  Where  the  count  had  engaged  her,  I  cannot  tell ;  but 
he  had  certainly  been  most  fortunate  in  securing  her  as  an 
attendant  for  his  daughters,  the  younger  of  whom  she  had 
had  the  charge  of  almost  from  infancy.  Xothing  but  her 
devotion  to  the  family,  and  to  Marguerite  in  particular, 
would  have  induced  her  to  make  one  of  the  travel  lint;- 


206  M  A  p.  E  1  E  D     BENEATH     HIM. 

household  of  Monsieur  Dubois  ;  but  having  once  made  up 
her  mind  to  accompany  her  mistress,  I  felt  the  strongest 
confidence  that  Kathleen  would  never  desert  her.  It 
seemed  little  enough  protection  for  a  poor  girl  in  such  a 
position  ;  but  Marguerite  herself  clung  to  it  with  touch- 
ing tenacity,  so  as  almost  to  cause,  as  we  have  seen,  a 
quarrel  between  her  flither  and  Monsieur  Dubois  ;  and  in 
the  end  it  turned  out  of  the  utmost  service. 

"A  loving  heart  that  is  also  brave,  can  rcco;"n})]ish 
much  for  the  object  of  its  affections  and  against  great  odds. 
Kathleen  Maloney  looked  upon  it  in  this  light,  and  could 
be  relied  on  to  overcome  almost  everything  except  foreign 
languages.  Although  she  had  lived  in  France  so  many 
years,  she  discoursed  in  the  French  tongue  almost  as 
imperfectly  as  an  Indian  ayah  speaks  English,  and  would 
invariably  address  lier  remarks  to  a  stranger,  even  in 
Lozere,  in  pure  Milesian,  in  the  forlorn-hope  that  he 
might  be  a  compatriot. 

"Upon  the  arrival  of  tliis  singularly-composed  wed- 
ding-party at  Marseilles,  which  they  reached  on  the  same 
evening,  the  happy  pair,  or  rather  trio — for  the  secretary 
never  left  them — sat  down  at  tlieir  liotel  to  a  splendid 
repast,  of  which,  liowever,  the  poor  bride  could  not  swal- 
low"  a  single  mouthful.  While  thus  engaged,  her  scarceh' 
less  unhappy  attendant  wandered  out  into  tlie  bustling 
town.  Perhaps  she  had  a  natural  passion  for  sight-seeing, 
and  understanding  that  they  were  to  leave  the  port  the 
next  morning,  she  opined  tiiat  no  time  was  to  be  lost  in 
reconnoitring;  or  perhaps  the  faithful  creature  thought 
that  she  might  accpiire  some  knowledge  which  might  be 
made  useful  to  her  beloved,  mistress.  She  turned  her 
steps  towards  the  quay,  where  the  great  fleet  of  shipping 
lay  as  distinguishable  under  the  clear  starlit  sky  as  in  the 
daytime,  and  strove  to  guess  at  wliich  among  them  all 
the  vessel  mio;ht  be  wdiich  was  fated  to  carrv  them  so  soou 
to  unknown  shores.  Even  France  appeared  like  home 
in  comparison  to  such  a  dreaded  bourne. 

-^'Can  you  tell  me,  young  man,'  inquired  she  of  one 


THE     KIDNAPPERS.  207 

with  a  good-natured  foce,  and  appearance  a  little  superior 
to  the  maritime  population  thereabouts,  '  which  of  these 
boats  here  is  the  steam-yacht  bound  for  the  East  to-mor- 
row morning?  I  am  a  stranger  here  myself  entirely/ 
added  she  in  pathetic  apology. 

''' That's  clear/  answered  the  man,  holding  out  his 
hand,  which  Kathleen  seized  in  a  rapture.  '  AVhy,  who 
on  earth  would  have  thouglit  of  meeting  an  Irishwoman 
in  Marseilles'  port,  within  an  hour  or  two  of  midnight 
too!  It  is  neither  right  nor  safe,  my  lass,  that  you  should 
be  here.' 

^' '  Leave  Kathleen  Maloney  alone  for  taking  care  of 
herself,'  replied  the  undaunted  girl ;  '  although,  indeed,  if 
I  Vv-anted  help  vou're  just  the  boy  to  give  it  me:  it  was 
vour  kind  Endish  eves  which  made  me  speak  to  you,  sir. 
And  now,  prav  tell  me  which  is  the  steam-yacht,  that 
I  may  look  upon  it,  and  see  whether  it  is  like  a  coffin 
outside,  as  it  should  be,  for  it  will  carry  me  and  my  dear 
mistress  both  to  our  deaths,  I  know.' 

"• '  But  where  do  vou  expect  it  to  take  you  in  the  mean- 
time, mv  good'  girl'?  I  thought  you  said  it  was  bound 
fortheJEa^st?' 

"  Ay,  to  Egvpt  or  some  such  place :  to  the  house  ot 
bondage,  as  itiias  well  been  written ;  a  land  full  of  task- 
masters, and  wickedness  too,  if  them  Nubians  came  from 
it,  I'll  warrant.     Is  that  the  ship,  sir  ? 

"The  stranger  pointed  towards  a  trim-lookmg  vessel, 
built  evidentlv  for  speed,  but  with  much  more  external 
decoration  about  it  than  was  usual:  the  port-holes 
were  larger — more  like  windows — and  neatly  panited, 
and    its    appearance  altogether  was    livable,  and  even 

luxurious.  1   T-    1  1 

"'It    is  a  prettv  thing  enough/  observed  Kathleen, 

raournfullv  ;  ^ut  for  mv  part,  I  would  rather  be  set  on 

board  a  coal-barge,  with  its  figure-head  pointing  towards 

old  Ireland.' 

"'And  that's  a  pleasant  thing  to  say,'  returned  the 

young  fellow,  laughing,  '  when  I  myself  am  engineer  of 


208  MARRIED     BENEATH     HiM. 

that  same  steam-yacht,  and  you  will  enjoy  the  great 
Jidvantage  of  my  society  upon  the  voyage.' 

'^^Wl>iat!  Do  you  belong  to  her?-  You,  an  honest 
Englishman.  Then  praised  be  the  saints  !  But,  arrah, 
jewel,  tell  me  all  about  her,  do  ;  and  who  is  this  Monsieur 
Dubois,  who  owns  her,  and  his  secretary,  Monsieur  Bar- 
bette; for  you  cannot  guess  how  much  of  comfort  or 
misery  may  hang  upon  your  answer.' 

"  ^  Well,  the  fact  is,  it's  secret  service.  You  see  I  am 
bound  not  to  tell  mv  employer's  secrets ;  but  I  raav  say 
this  much,  since  it  is  known  to  every  sailor  in  Marseilles, 
that  Monsieur  Dubois  is  no  more  her  Owner  than  I  am. 
The  Irene  belongs  to  the  Porte.' 

"^ Oh,  it's  a  Marseilles  boat,  is  it?  Then  I  suppose 
Monsieur  Dubois  has  only  hired  it?' 

"  ^  Xay,  nay,  girl,'  returned  tl.5  young  man,  greatly 
amused;  ^it  is  the  Sublime  Porte  that  I  mean.  She 
belongs  to  the  Sultan.' 

"*  AVhat!  the  Grand  Turk?'  cried  Kathleen,  clasping 
her  hands.  ^Mother  of  Heaven,  this  is  dreadful !  What 
*can  it  all  meau?  Look  you,  sir,'  pleaded  she,  while  tears 
rolled  down  her  cheeks,  *  I  have  not  a  friend  in  all  this 
town,  except  my  dear  young  mistress,  and  she  has  no 
other  friend  than  I.  She  has  been  married  this  day  to 
Monsieur  Dubois,  whom  she  hates,  and  I  hate ;  and  what 
is  much  more  singular  is,  that  Monsieur  Dubois  does  not 
love  her,  never  addresses  her  even,  save  in  the  presence 
of  Monsieur  Barbette.  There  is  somethnig  strange  and 
cruel  about  it  all.  There  is  some  unspeakable  wretched- 
ness overhanging  my  dear  ^liss  Marguerite.  Oh,  sir, 
if  you  have  a  mother,  a  sister,  pity  us !  Tell  me  what 
this  man  is,  and  to  what  misfortunes  we  are  hurrying.' 

"  ^  I  have  a  mother  and  two  little  sisters  at  home,' 
returned  the  young  man,  deeply  moved,  ^and  for  their 
sakes  I  will  do  your  bidding.  If  I  do  lose  my  situation 
through  it,  what  matters?  While  wits- and  hard  work 
command  their  wao^es,  Charles  Perlins^  is  not  a  man  to 
starve.' " 


THE     KIDNAPPERS.  209 

Frederick  started  from  his  seat.  "  Charles  Perling !  '^ 
exclaimed  he, 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  name/'  continued  Dr.  Hermann  ; 
"  that  is  certainly  the  name,  although  the  ink  in  which  it 
is  written  has  much  faded.  Did  you  ever  know  him  ? 
He  must  have  Ix-en  a  fine  young  fellow." 

"Xo,  sir;  I  never  knew  him;  but  I  have  heard  of 
him  from  those  who  loved  him  dearlv.  Prav  go  on, 
sir." 

"^God  will  never  let  you  starve/  returned  Kathleen, 
earnestly,  ^  if  you  will  only  help  us  in  our  need.' 

"  Ms  to  help,  my  good  girl,  you  shall  have  the  best 
that  I  have  to  offer,  though  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  worth 
but  little ;  but  I  will  at  least  warn  you  of  your  danger. 
The  government  which  I  serve  is  not  like  other  govern- 
ments; there  is  always  something  tricky  and  underhand 
going  on,  either  for  or  against  the  master.  He  is  a 
vicious  and  abandoned  prince,  and  such  have  always 
wicked  ministers  ready  to  do  their  will  for  pay.  Mon- 
sieur Dubois  ns  one  of  these,  and  Monsieur  Barbette  is 
another.  Xow,  answer  me  truly  one  question.  Is  your 
young  mistress  very  beautiful  ? ' 

^^  ^  She  is  more  lovely  than  any  fiuman  creature  I  ever 
saw/  returned  Kathleen,  slowly;  ^fit  to  be  an  angel,  just 
as  she  is.' 

'• '  Then  it's  my  opinion/  returned  the  young  man, 
gravely,  ^  that  her  marriage  with  Dubois  is  all  a  mockery. 
He  and  Barbette  are  carrying  her  to  Constantinople  to 
make  their  bargain  with  the  Sultan ;  they  have  been 
applying — the  scoundrels  I — their  Circassian  principles 
to  France,  and  they  mean  to  get  a  high  price  for  their 
western  wife,  no  doubt.' 

*■  For  a  moment  or  two,  the  keen  instincts  of  Kathleen 
quite  deserted  her;  the  magnitude  of  the  impending 
danger,  the  unimaginable  wickedness  of  the  plot  deprived 
her  of  all  power  of  reflection,  and  blank  despair  took  the 
place  of  terror.  But  revived  by  the  water  which  Charles 
Perling  sprinkled  on  her  cheeks,  and  still  more  by  his 
13 


210  MAEEIED     BEXEATH      HIM. 

soothing  and  friendly  tones,  she  was  gradually  enabled  to 
look  the  lowering  future  in  the  face. 

"  ^  You  will  not  suffer  this  great  wrong  to  be  done/ 
said  she,  solemnly;  ^you  will  help  me  all  you  can?' 

^^^I  will,  I  will,*  returned  he;  'hut  I  do  not  see  what 
is  to  be  done.     You  are  the  head,  I  am  only  the  hands.'  '^ 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE    MORAL   OF    IT. 

^^  ^  T  AVILL  go  home  and  warn  my  mistress,'  said 
1  Kathleen,  after  a  little  thought ;  '  come  with  me, 
and  I  will  show  you  the  window  of  her  chamber.  She 
will  inform  the  landlord  of  the  hotel,  and  he  will  not 
dare  but  be  on  our  side.  We  shall  return,  thank  Heaven, 
and  my  dear  young  mistress,  the  Lily  of  Lozere,  they 
call  her — will  see  her  home  once  more.' 

"'But  if  the  landlord  disbelieves  you?'  urged  the 
engineer.  "  The  whole  story  will  seem  impossible — a 
mere  fiction.  Dubois  is  rich,  which  goes  a  great  way 
with  landlords.     AVhat  will  you  do  then?' 

"  '  Xay,  it  is  what  will  you  do  then  ? '  returned  Kath- 
leen, solemnly.  ^  You  alone,  in  that  case,  must  be  our 
trust.  You  will  not  desert  us,  because  you  believe  in  a 
God.  Have  you  no  friends  here — not  your  own  mess- 
mates, but  others  —  among  the  -Marseilles  folks,  I 
mean  ? ' 

" '  I  have  acquaintances :  we  foreigners,'  replied  the 
young  man,  '  find  it  hard  to  make  our  way  to  people's 
hearts.  But  I  know  a  dozen  men.  Frenchmen,  who  if  I 
told  them  wliat  we  know — what  is  going  on  in  their  own 
town  here —  But  that  would  never  do ;  they  would  breed 
a  riot.' 


THE     MORAL     OF     IT.  211 

"  '  What  of  that  ? '  cried  Kathleen,  eaojerly.  ^  Let  them 
burn  the  town  down,  so  that  I  save  Miss  Marguerite. 
Look  you,  there  is  a  drinking-honse  just  opposite  to  our 
hoteL  Take  tliem  there  and  treat  them.  Here  is  money 
— or  I  can  bring  you  thrice  as  much.' 

" '  Put  up  your  purse,  my  good  girl,'  returned  the 
other;  ^I  am  not  wealthy,  but  I  can  afford  to  stand 
treat  upon  such  an  occasion.  Xo  true  Marseillaise 
will  refuse  supper  and  brandy.  Well,  I  will  give 
rav  entertainment  at  the  wine -shop  opposite.  —  What 
then?' 

"^Listen:  I  will  show  you  the  window;  watch,  and 
if  you  see  my  face  at  it,  bring  out  your  friends — to  look 
at  the  moon,  the  state  of  the  weather,  or  to  smoke — no 
matter  upon  what  pretence.  Then  if  you  see  me  wave 
my  handkerchief— thus — tell  them  that  in  their  native 
place,  in  Marseilles,  a  young  girl,  their  own  country- 
woman, is  being  ])lotted  against  by  a  wicked  knave,  who 
is  carrying  her'off  to  self  her.  Then  let  the  landlord, 
since  he  has  been  deaf  to  us,  hear  them;  let  him  look  to 
his  windows,  his  furniture.  He  will  soon  be  won  over 
to  our  side,  I  warrant  him.  And  oh !  sir,  if  you  happen 
in  the  turmoil  to  come  across  Dubois  or  Barbette — 
they're  sure  to  be  together — Avill  you  remember  what 
villany  they  intended,  and  what  my  poor  mistress  has 
suffered  ? ' 

"  ^Av,  that  will  I,'  cried  the  young  man,  with  vehe- 
mence. '  I  will  strike  once,  and  not  lightly,  for  this 
Lily ;  and  once,  my  good  lass,  for  the  shamrock  of  old 
Ireland,  which  is  a  very  pretty  flower  too.  The  gen- 
darmes will  arrive  to  a  certainty,  and  I  shall  be  sent  to 
prison  ;  but  what  of  that?  By-the-by,  why  has  it  never 
struck  you  to  inform  them  in  the  first  instance — to  send 
for  the  police  at  once  ? ' 

'^Llh,  no,'  replied  Kathleen,  gravely.  ^The  Palers 
are  a  bad  lot  entirely  all  tlie  world  over.  Sure  they're 
always  for  the  rich  people  against  us  poor  folks.  They 
woufd  let  this  Dubois  slip  through  their  fingers  if  he  only 


212  MAREIED     BEXEATH      HIM. 

greased  their  palms  with  enough  golden  ointment.  And 
besides,  if  we  applied  to  the  law,  the  whole  matter  must 
be  made  ])ublic,  and  if  this  can  be  avoided,  so  much  the 
better :  Miss  Marguerite  would  die  of  shame.  I  have 
good  hope,  too,  that  there  need  not  be  a  riot  after  all. 
This  Dubois  is  a  coward,  or  my  name  is-  not  Kathleen 
Maloney.' 

"^  Very  well,  Kathleen;  I  am  off  to  invite  my  friends 
to  this  entertainment,  since  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost. 
In  half  an  hour  you  may  count  upon  me  to  have  collected 
a  score  of  as  hairbrained  fellows  as  can  be  picked  up  in 
the  port.  Show  your  face  and  it  will  draw  the  lot  of 
them  out  of  doors;  wave  your  handkerchief,  and  then 
woe  to  the  windows  !  '^  We  will  be  revenged!  Burn, 
fire,  kill,  slay,''  as  I  read  once  in  a  stage-play  belonging 
to  my  little  sister  Jane.' 

"  ^  Oh,  sir,  if  you  suffer  for  our  sake,  she  will  never 
forgive  me,  and  I  shall  never  forgive  myself 

*'  ^  You  do  not  know  my  sister  Jane,'  replied  Charles 
Perling,  simply,  ^or  you  would  know  she  would  forgive 
anything.  I  am  not  sure  about  her  countenancing  a 
riot,  indeed,'  soliloquized  he  aloud,  *  but  I  don't  see  any 
other  way  that  promises  better.'  Then  he  looked  at  the 
steam-yacht,  and  shook  his  curly  Saxon  locks  regret- 
fully. ^I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  set  foot  upon  your 
deck  again,  bonny  bark.  But  no  matter;  au  revoir, 
Kathleen.' 

^^ '  Sure  if  it's  a  kiss  you're  asking  for,  you  shall  have 
it,'  answered  Miss  Maloney,  with  a  little  sob.  ^And  if 
I  can  remember  your  name,  which  I  am  but  a  bad 
hand  at,  you  shall  never  be  forgotten  in  my  prayers,  you 
broth  of  a  boy.' 

"  The  young  engineer  accompanied  the  girl  to  the 
hotel,  and  she  pointed  out  to  him  the  supper-room, 
which  was  still  brilliantly  illuminated. 

"^My  mistress  is  there  still,'  said  she,  pointing  to  the 
shadow  of  a  drooping  head  :  ^  therefore,  one  of  those  two 
will  be  the  window  at  which  I  will  stand,' 


THE     MORAL     OF     IT.  213 

•^Charles  Perling,  upon  his  part,  secured  an  apartment 
at  the  caf^  opposite,  which  commanded  the  desired  view. 

"  Upon  entering  lier  hotel,  Miss  Kathleen  Maloney 
gave  certain  orders  as  emanating  from  her  master,  which, 
although  they  must  have  evoked  some  surprise,  were 
received  with  polite  acquiescence.  The  servants  of  gen- 
tlemen travelling  en  prince  are  rarely  disobeyed.  Then 
going  to  the  chamber  of  her  mistress,  she  selected  some 
articles  of  apparel,  money,  and  a  bonnet  and  shawl,  and 
placed  them  in  a  bundle  on  a  table  that  stood  on  the 
landing  at  the  top  of  the  stairs.  After  completing  these 
arrangements,  she  entered  the  first-floor  chamber,  occu- 
pied by  her  betters,  without  the  least  hesitation  or  mau- 
vaise  hqnte ;  but  it  was  certainly  a  great  relief  to  her 
to  find  her  beloved  Miss  Marguerite  sitting  there  all 
alone. 

'^^They  have  gone  out,'  observed  her  mistress,  gloomily, 
in  answer  to  her  look  of  inquiry,  ^and,  I  think,  to  look 
for  you.  They  seem  to  be  greatly  alarmed  at  your  con- 
tinued absence.  You  seem  to  have  quite  awakened  Mon- 
sieur Barbette's  interest,  Kathleen,'  added  the  poor  girl, 
smiling  sadly. 

" '  Troth,  and  I  think  I  shall  do  that  before  I've  done 
with  him  !'  responded  the  other,  vehemently.  *  They're 
just  two  worthless  scoundrels,  the  pair  of  them.  Ah, 
mavourneen  I  my  lily !  my  beauty !  what  a  snare  has 
been  spread  for  you,  baited  with  glittering  gold  !  Into 
what  a  pit  of  infamy  has  your  own  father  been  uncon- 
sciously hurrying  you,  in  spite  of  yourself!' 

^' ^  Say  nothing  against  my  father,  Kathleen,'  replied 
Marguerite,  calmly  ;  ^he  did  all  for  the  best.  You  ncel 
not  remind  me  of  my  degradation ;  it  is  sufficientrr 
present  to  me  every  instant.  I  am  a  bond-slave — sold 
for  gold.' 

"^Yes;  but  not  to  this  man,  my  child,  but  to  some 
other.  Your  marriage  has  been  a  mere  trap — a  lie. 
You  are  a  slave,  indeed,  if  you  once  set  foot  in  that 
vessel  to-morrow  morning.     Monsieur  Dubois  is  a — -" 


214  MAE  EI  ED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

""Is  a  what^  woman?'  asked  the  hissing  tones  of  the 
secretary,  who  had  entered  in  his  usual  noiseless  fashion^ 
and  bv  another  door. 

'^  'X  kidnapper  I  ^  exclaimed  Kathileen,  boldly,  steppino- 
backward  to  the  window.  ^An  emissary  of  a  wicked 
prince;  a  disgrace  to  the  name  of  man!  Xow  I  know 
why  there  has  not  been  even  a  pretence  of  regard  fbi- 
this  dear  girl,  and  why  you — you  and  the  other  villaiii 
never  lose  sight  of  one  another.  In  an  infamous  partner- 
ship, you  purchased  her  of  her  foolish  though  fond 
father.'' 

"  Zuarguerite,  speechless  with  anguish  and  terror,  still 
made  a  gesture  of  dissent. 

^"  There!'  cried  the  secretary,  in  a  tone  of  triuf^iph, 
'  madame  herself,  you  see,  denies  these  absurd  calumnies. 
What  dreams,  what  inventions  are  these?  Fortunately, 
here  is  Monsieur  Dubois  himself  come  to  reassure  her. 
Sir,  your  wife's  attendant  has,  I  believe,  taken  leave  of 
her  senses.' 

"  Certainly,  to  look  at  Kathleen,  as  she  stood,  with 
fiery  eyes  and  crimson  cheeks,  denouncing  her  master 
and  his  friend,  this  did  not  seem  an  unlikely  supposi- 
tion. Marguerite  gazed  on  her  with  yearning  indeed, 
but  with  distrust — with  a  sort  of  affectionate  pity.  '  If 
she  be  mad,'  said  she,  ^it  is  no  wonder;  and  as  for  me, 
oh  Heaven  !  I  would  that  I  could  be  mad  also.' 

'^ '  Xay,  mistress,  darling  mistress,  do  not  you  turn 
from  me,  or  mad  indeed  I  shall  go.  I  tell  you  these 
men  are  kidnappers.  If  I  say  false,  let  them  send  for 
the  master  of  the  hotel ;  let  us  hear  what  he  has  to  say 
to  wretches  who — Stand  oif,  accursed  thief,  or  I  shall 
save  tlie  hangman  trouble  I ' 

"  Dubois  had  made  a  step  forward  as  if  to  seize  her  ; 
but  she  snatched  up  a  knife  from  the  supper-table,  and 
he  fell  back  before  its  shining  point,  with  his  lips  as 
white  as  ashes. 

^^'It  is  quite  impossible,  madame,'  stammered  he, 
^  to  pay  any  attejition  to  this  woman's  ravings.     What 


THE     MORAL     OF     IT.  215 

would  tlie  maitre  cVhdtel — a  most  respectable  }3erson 
doubtless — think  of  us,  who  come  here  accompanied  by 
such  an  attendant  I  She  has  been  drinking  at  the  cale 
!  >pposite/ 

"  The  cafe  opposite  I  How  little  he  knew  what  hope 
lie  awakened  bv  these  words !  They  must  be  there  by 
this  time  surely — some  of  them  at  least.  She  threw 
the  sash  up  with  one  hand,  still  menacing  Dubois  with 
the  knife  in  the  other. 

'' '  If  you  call  aloud/  said  the  secretary,  producing  a 
small  pistol  from  his  breast-pocket,  'if  you  utter  a  sound 
that  can  be  heard  in  the  street,  the  moment  in  which  you 
do  so  will  be  your  last.' 

"Llnd  do  you  think  that  /fear  death  like  this  trem- 
bling coward  here  ? '  replied  Kathleen,  scornfully.  '  It 
is  for  him  and  you,  for  whom  hell  gapes,  to  fear;  but 
not  for  me.  Look  forth — back,  on  your  lives  I — not 
from  this  window,  but  the  other — do  you  see  those  men 
there? — ten,  eleven,  twelve — and  there  are  more  to  come. 
They  are  there  for  a  purpose.  See  how  they  look  up 
this  way!  They  know  what  is  doing  here;  they  have 
sworn  to  prevent  it.  If  I  do  but  move  my  hand,  there 
will  be  such  a  riot  here  as  shall  be  heard  of  far  and  wide, 
and  for  which  your  master  himself  will  have  to  give 
account.  You  (she  turned  on  Dubois  like  a  tiger-cat 
whose  young  are  threatened) — you  poltroon,  would  you 
like  to  be  torn  asunder  by  a  mob  ?  Approach  me  or  my 
mistress,  either  of  you,  by  a  single  step,  move  a  limb,  a 
finger,  be  otherwise  than  as  men  turned  into  stone,  and 
as  sure  as  the  stars  are  in  heaven,  it  shall  be  so ! ' 

"She  leaned  out  of  the  window,  still  keeping  her  gaze 
upon  her  foes,  and  with  a  clear  and  distinct  utterance 
exclaimed  :  '  We  are  coming  down,  friends — both  of  us, 
this  instant.  If  we  are  not  with  you  in  two  minutes 
come  and  fetch  us;  you  will  know  who  have  detained 
us  ! '  Then  seizing  the  terrified  Marguerite  by  her  cold, 
bloodless  hand,  she  led  her  swiftly  from  the  room,  and 
pausing  only  to  take  the  bundle  which  she  had  placed  on 


216  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

the  landing,  descended  to  the  hall,  and  bidding  the  porter 
open  the  door,  was  in  the  street  with  her  precious  charge, 
shawled  and  with  her  bonnet  on,  in  less  time  than  it 
takes  to  tell  it. 

'' '  The  carriage  waits,  madarae,^  said  he,  '  according  to 
orders/  And  at  the  corner  of  the  street  stood  the  vehicle 
in  question,  with  four  horses,  and  the  postillions  in  their 
saddles. 

"Charles  Perling  was  about  to  rush  out  from  among 
his  wondering  companions,  but  Kathleen  stopped  him 
with  her  warning  finger.  It  pointed  towards  the  window 
of  the  room  he  had  been  so  lately  watching,  and  he  under- 
stood her  to  mean  that  he  should  remain  unrecoguized'by 
his  foiled  employers. 

" '  See  that  we  are  not  followed,^  cried  she,  eagerly ; 
^that  is  all  that  is  necessary.  And  may  God  bless  you 
for  your  good  deed  this  night.' 

"  The  two  girls  entered  the  carriage,  and  the  whips 
cracked  in  a  very  feu  de  joie,  and  away  wdiirled  the 
wheels  over  the  stones.  The  birds  had  escaped  out  of 
the  snare  of  the  fowler,  though  their  tender  hearts  were 
palpitating  yet  with  the  extremity  of  their  danger! 

"  The  two  travellers  knew  nothing  of  the  time  at  which 
the  trains  started  northward,  so  they  pursued  the  road  for 
several  stages  through  the  night,  and  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, at  an  intermediate  station  on  the  line,  they  took  the 
train  towards  home — after  what  an  experience  of  the 
world  that  lay  beyond  it !  " 

The  President  of  Minim  Hall  here  folded  up  the  manu- 
script from  which  he  had  been  reading — at  first  in  a  more 
disjointed  fashion  than  our  own  method  of  narration  ;  but 
during  the  latter  part,  just  as  we  have  given  it — and 
looked  inquiringly  towards  his  auditor. 

"  It  is  a  strange,  sad  story,  sir,''  observed  Frederick. 
"Is  it  true?" 

"  It  is  all  true,  my  lad.  My  poor  sister  had  some 
little  talent  for  weaviuo;  what  she  had  to  tell  into  the 


THE     MORAL     OF     IT.  217 

narrative  form ;  and  I  found  this  statement,  \yhich  I 
know  to  be  a  correct  one  from  other  sources,  among  her 
papers  after  death.  It  was  never  intended  for  any  other 
eye  but  her  own.  It  seems  odd  enough  that  she  should 
have  cultivated  her  gift  in  this  manner  to  no  purpose.^' 

"I  can  understand  that  quite  easily,  sir,"  replied  the 
young  man,  thinking  of  an  instance  of  the  same  kind 
very  much  within  his  own  experience.  "But  does  not 
the  writer  say  what  eventually  became  of  the  Lily  of 
Lozere?" 

"  She  died,  my  lad,  of  a  broken  heart,"  observed  the 
Principal,  sadly.  ^'  She  could  not  bear  the  shame  of  the 
plot  that  had  been  laid  for  her,  or  (what  is  more  likely) 
the  degradation  which  she  saw  her  father  felt  upon  her 
account.  We  can  easily  imagine  Ayhat  was  said  by  the 
vulgar  and  malicious,  and  how  those  who  envied  the 
count's  apparent  good  fortune  enjoyed  the  disgraceful 
failure  of  his  hopes.  He  must  have  known,  too,  that 
his  own  ambition  and  desire  of  self-aggrandizement  had 
brought  this  evil  upon  his  house :  if  he  had  not  made 
such  a  public  boast  of  his  daughter's  beauty  in  Paris,  the 
wicked  scheme  of  Monsieur  Dubois  W0uld  never  have 
been  concocted.  His  days  were  embittered  by  self-re- 
proach as  well  as  by  wounded  pride  ;  the  home  at  I^ozere 
was  not  the  old  home.  The  Lily  languished  and  died, 
nor  did  the  faithful  Kathleen  long  survive  her." 

"And  was  no  effort  m^ide,  sir,  to  punish  that  pair  of 
scoundrels?"  exclaimed  Frederick,  indignantly.  "Was 
it  shown  that  the  Sultan  had  any  complicity  in  the  in- 
famy?" 

"  I  am  afraid  it  was,"  returned  the  Principal,  gravely. 
"  The  count  at  least  always  affirmed  that  it  was.  The 
Turkish  ambassador  had  himself  spoken  highly  of  Dubois 
to  the  proprietor  of  the  Chateau  Florae.  Lamotte  would 
have  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  gain  redress — vengeance. 
He  appealed  to  the  king  himself  in  the  matter;  but  I 
know  not  what  steps  were  t^ken.  It  was  not  thought 
politic  that  France  and  the  Sublime  Porte  should  have  a 


218  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

quarrel  at  that  time,  I  believe.  At  all  events,  the  count 
cannot  now  hear  the  name  of  Louis  Philippe  mentioned 
without  an  execration  ;  and  he  went  into  voluntary  exile 
from  his  native  country,  disdaining,  as  he  said,  to  live 
under  such  a  truckling  prince." 

"  I  see  it  all  now,  sir,"  exclaimed  Frederick,  suddenly  : 
"  Count  Lamotte  is  Monsieur  de  Lernay.  I  remember 
the  scowl  that  crossed  his  face  when  I  happened,  upon 
the  first  night  I  met  him  here,  to  speak  of  Louis  Philippe. 
I  remember  how  you  trod  upon  my  feet  when  I  men- 
tioned Constantinople." 

^^You  are  right,"  returned  the  Principal,  quietly. 
"  But  I  did  not  tell  you  this  history  merely  to  warn  you 
of  what  was  dangerous  ground ;  that  would  be  no  suffi- 
cient excuse  for  such  a  breach  of  confidence.  I  told  you 
of  this  disgrace  that  has  happened  to  the  De  Lernays,  in 
order  that  you  may  not  think  a  daughter  of  that  house 
immeasurably  beyond  you,  and  out  of  your  reach,  as  you 
have  doubtless  deemed  her  to  be.  Any  great  alliance,  to 
which  her  birth  and  beauty  well  entitle  her,  has  been 
rendered  impossible  to  Eugenie,  and  iier  father  is  not 
likely  a  second  time  to  be  too  ambitious  in  his  choice  of 
a  son-in-law." 

The  Principal  rose  like  one  who  has  concluded  his 
peroration,  and  does  not  wish  to  mar  it  by  more  words. 

"  Really,  sir,"  stammered  Frederick,  perceiving  that 
some  reply  was  expected  of  him,  "  I  scarcely  see  how  the 
circumstance  you  speak  of  can  concern  me;  but  I  thank 
you,  most  unfeignedly,  for  the  trouble  you  have  taken 
upon  my  account.  I  shall,  of  course,  accept  the  secret 
you  have  confided  to  me  as  a  sacred  trust ;  it  will  never 
pass  these  lips,  you  may  be  sure.  Xor  shall  I  ever 
behold  Monsieur  de  Lernay  or  his  .daughter  without 
remembering  the  sorrow  and  undeserved  affront  that  has 
been  put  upon  them,  and  taking  care  to  treat  them  with 
all  the  more  gentleness,  and — and— homage." 

The  Principal  held  out  lys  hand — and  not  merely  the 
two  fingers  of  it,  which  were  generally  offei'ed  to  the 


DE  lerxay's  second  son-in-law.    219 

undergraduate  world.  "  I  have  not  expelled  you  this 
time/'  said  he,  smiling:  "but  remember  (here  he  looked 
towards  the  door,  and  raised  his  voice)  that  I  have  been 
obliged  to  give  you  a  most  severe  and  lengthy  repri- 
mand, and  you  promise  me  that  you  never  again  sur- 
reptitiously leave  college,  even  to  visit  your  good 
flither." 

Frederick  Galton  laid  his  hand  upon  the  door  handle, 
but  discreetly  forebore  to  turn  it  until  the  rustling  of 
silk,  wliich  had  once  more  made  itself  audible  during  the 
last  few  minutes,  had  hurriedly  died  away. 

"I  thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  said  he,  with  emotion, 
as  he  finally  took  leave. 

'^God  bless  you,  my  lad,  and  take  you  in  his  good 
keeping!"  was  the  PrincipaFs  grave  rejoinder.  Then  he 
put  the  faded  letters  reverently  away  into  his  desk,  and 
locked  it ;  but  liis  features,  now  he  was  left  alone,  wore 
a  look  of  dissatisfaction  and  sorrow.  "  I  have  done  it 
for  the  best,"  soliloquised  he;  "and  yet  I  may  have  been 
doing  harm.  Perhaps  nature  is  the  best  guide  in  these 
matters,  after  all.  But  what  a  clever  fellow  Morrit  is! 
'  Gentleness '  and  '  homage  ; '  that  was  the  very  thing  his 
uncle  foresaw  would  come  of  this.     Poor  lad,  poor  lad  ! " 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

M.  DE    LEP.NAY's   second    SON-IN-LAW^ 

IHE  May  term  at  Camford  being  one  of  the  pleasant- 
i  est  epochs  of  luiman  existence  to  that  part  of  our 
race  who  are  undergraduates,  is  proportionably  fleeting ; 
vet  it  merges,  not  into  sorrow,  or  any  dull  routine,  such 
as  clogs  us  old  fellows  of  tlie  work-a-day  world,  but — 
into  the  Long  Vacation  :    the  latter   period   being  one 


T 


220  M  A  R  R  I  E  J)     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     II  I  M  . 

of  quite  uninteiTUj^ted  enjoyment,  extending  over  four 
months  at  the  least.  .  Ah,  youth-time,  why  are  thy 
blessings  thus  heaped  together,  wlien,  more  sparely  used, 
they  might  gladden  one  a  whole  life  long!  Ah,  golden 
hours,  why  fled  you  in  such  flocks,  so  that  not  one 
remains,  but  all  about  us  uow  are  leaden-winged,  and 
most  unmusical !  Only  a  week  remained  of  Camford 
festivities,  and  then  the  sacred  place  would  l)ecome 
a  waste,  inhabited  only  by  superannuated  dons,  and 
servants  in  their  master^s  clothing;  Avhile  the  young 
gentlemen  themselves  would  have  ^^gone  down,^^  some 
home  to  the  bosom  of  their  admiring  families ;  some, 
under  the  pleasant  pretence  of  a  reading -party,  into 
the  ^picturesque  fastnesses  of  their  native  land ;  and 
some,  abroad,  to  behold  men  and  cities,  and  to  amass 
private  collections  of  pipes,  of  more  or  less  originality 
and  beauty. 

There  was  a  long  discussion  at  Casterton,  between  Dr. 
Galton  and  his  brother-in-law,  as  to  what  should  be 
done  with  Frederick  during  this  interval.  His  sudden 
descent  upon  Oldborough,  vehemently  reprobated  by  his 
uncle,  but  not  inexcusable  in  the  eyes  of  his  father,  had 
seriously  frightened  both  these  relatives.  That  the  boy 
should  spend  his  summer  at  home,  within  half-a-day's 
journey  of  the  village  siren,  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 
The  doctor  entertained  a  very  ill  opinion  of  foreign 
countries  as  a  lounge  for  youth ;  and  the  curate  had  a 
similar  distrust  of  reading-parties  at  the  Lakes,  or  else- 
where. "Even  mathematical  men,"  said  he,  "  have  been 
known  to  fall  in  love  upon  such  expeditions,  wherein, 
indeed,  there  is  commonly  little  else  to  do.  It  is  most 
important  that  Frederick  should  have  plenty  to  occupy, 
his  mind ;  his  idleness  is  Miss  Perling's  opportunity,  you 
may  depend  upon  that.  Xow,  what  do  you  say  to  his 
passing  the  Long  Vacation  in  town?'^ 

"In  London!''  exclaimed  the  good  doctor.  "What! 
my  boy  in  London,  and  all  alone?  AVhere  is  he  to 
lodge  ?     AVho  is  to  look  after  him  ?     The  temptations  of 


DE    lep^xay's    second    SOX-IX-LAW.     221 

town,  my  dear  Pwubert,  are  very  great;  and  although  I 
have  done  my  veiy  best  to  instil  into  his  mind  good  reso- 
hitions,  and  so  furch,  yet — " 

''Well/"  interrupted  the/?urate,  testily,  ^^I  confess  lam 
not  afraid  of  tlie  temptations.  The  lad  has  a  virtuous 
attachment,  you  see  (the  doctor  winced),  aud  that  will 
probably  prove  his  safeguard ;  aud  if  it  doesn^t,  why,  the 
attachment  cannot  be  very  strong,  so  that  there  is  some 
comfort  in  either  case.  Moreover,  I  understand,  from 
Hermann,  that  the  De  Lernavs  are  croino-  to  town  for  the 
season.  Oiu'  impressionable  Frederick  is  not  without  a 
jyenchant  for  this  Miss  Eugenie,  it  seems.  If  you  put  a 
mopsticks  into  petticoats,  and  let  it  wear  a  becoming  cap, 
I  believe  the  lad  would  fall  down  and  worship  it.^^ 

^^A  French  woman  and  a  Catholic,"  sighed  the  poor 
doctor,  without  paying  any  attention  to  the  curate's  last 
remark.  ''  How  very  unfortunate  our  dear  Fr-ederick  has 
been  in  his  early  objects  of  devotion ! " 

"Very,"  returned  Mr.  Morrit,  dryly;  'M^ut  he  is  at 
least  improving.  Miss  de  Lernay  is  a  person  of  good 
birth  and  education ;  her  father  is  a  man  of  mark,  and 
there  is  even  a  little  money,  I  hear.  But  I  contend  that 
we  are  altogether  wrong  in  looking  upon  either  of  these 
affairs  so  seriously.  By  the  end  of  the  Long  Vacation,  I 
trust  he  will  have  fallen  in  love  with  several  other  young 
women." 

"  Robert,  don't  talk  like  that,"  retiu'ned  the  doctor, 
uravely.  "  God  knows  I  never  loved  any  one  but  his 
mother,  my  sweet  Ellen." 

The  curate  bowed  his  head,  and  was  silent  for  a  little. 
Any  mention  of  his  sister  always  moved  him ;  he  had 
not  only  that  reverence  for  her  memory  which  Dr.  Her- 
mann entertained  for  the  writer  of  those  letters  he  pre- 
served so  carefully,  but  a  sacred  love.  Ellen  Morrit  had 
been  to  her  brother  the  impersonation  of  all  that  was 
good  in  women ;  whenever  he  thought  or  spoke  contempt- 
uously of  the  sex,  he  always  made  an  exception  of  her 
in  his  own  mind.     She  had   been   his   home  companion 


222  MARRIED     BEXEATH      HIM. 

for  years;  the  oroament  of  his  bachelor  cottage;  the 
manager  of  his  little  honseholcl;  his  comforter  iu  many 
troubles  which  he  had  confided  to  no  other  bosom. 

To  the  doctor  she  had  beeq  all  this,  and  more,  far 
more,  although  for  a  shorter  time.  So  the  two  men 
kept  silence,  thinking  each  of  the  same  fair  young 
creature,  who,  though  so  long  dead,  was  yet  such  a 
strong  bond  between  them,  that  when  they  thought  of 
her,  they  straightway  loved  one  another. 

^^  William,  my  dear  William,'^  said  the  curate,  '^you 
and  Frederick  are  not  alike  at  all.'' 

^'  Xo,  indeed,"  returned  the  doctor,  simply ;  ^^  I  am  glad 
to  say  that  is  very  true.  He  takes  after  her,  not  me. 
So  fair,  so  kind ;  so  endeared  to  all  about  him ;  so  tender- 
hearted, and,  I  think,  so  pure." 

'^Yes,  and  that  is  wliat  makes  liis  position  such  a 
dangerous  one.  If  he  were  like  young  Meyrick — I 
mean,  if  he  was  more  commonplace,  and  even  somewhat 
vicious — we  should  have  no  such  difficulties  with  him  as 
these.  To  be  the  son  of  a  genius^is,  we  well  know,  a 
deplorable  circumstance;  but  to  have  a  genius  for  one's 
own  son,  is  very  embarrassing  too.  To  a  certain  extent, 
you  must  give  him  his  head,  my  good  friend,  otherwise 
he  will  kick  himself  clean  out  of  the  shafts  and  harness." 

^^What  is  that  you  propose  doing?"  asked  the  doctor, 
wearily;  not,  indeed,. that  the  subject  did  not  interest 
him,  but  because  all  his  air-built  castles  of  having  his 
son  by  his  side  for  life,  out  of  reach  of  temptations,  and 
the  punishments  that  follow  upon  yielding  to  them, 
seemed  already  dissolved,  and  his  house,  as  it  were, 
made  a  second  time  desolate.  ^^  What  is  it  you  would  do 
with  my  boy?" 

"  Vv^ell,  the  best  course,  as  it  appears  to  me,  in  order 
to  wean  him  from  this  unhappy  attachment,  is  to  let  him 
have  his  own  way  as  respects  literature.  Let  his  mind 
be  exercised  in  the  manner  most  agreeable  to  himself, 
and  it  will  thereby  be  kept  from  love-sick  longings.  The 
ambition  of  a  magazine  writer,  it  is  true,  is  contemptible 


DE    LEENAY's    second    SON-IN-LAW.        223 

enough,  but  it  is  better  than  aspirations  after  a  ^^'heel- 
wright's  daughter.  As  to  Frederick's  being  looked  after 
in  the  vsense  you  are  thinking  of  in  London,  that  is  out 
of  the  question  ;  but  I  will  write  to  Gory — to  Jonathan 
Johnson,  I  mean — by  this  day's  post,  and  if  there  is  no 
room  for  him  under  his  own  roof,  he  will  see  that  he  is 
respectably  lodged.  I  will  get  him  to  promise  that  the 
lad  shall  be  always  welcome;  I  think  he  will  do  that 
much  for  me,  for  the  sake  of  old  times,  so  that  there 
need  be  no  excuse  for  Frederick's  falling  into  loose  com- 
pany. Then,  as  for  his  employing  himself,  after  the 
wished-for  fashion,  the  editor  of  the  Porcupine  will  be 
able  to  put  him  in  the  way  of  doing  that.  It  is  not  a 
promising  plan,  I  acknowledge,  but  I  can  hit  on  no 
better." 

"  Then  he  will  not  come  home — to  Casterton — at  all  ?  " 
said  the  poor  doctor,  sighing  as  he  thought  of  the  weary 
time  that  had  elapsed  since  the  lad's  departure,  and  the 
long,  lonely  summer  before  him. 

"  Certainly  not,"  returned  Mr.  Morrit,  distinctly. 
"My  dear  AVilliam,  that  would  be  madness  indeed." 

Upon  the  very  last  day  of  term,  and  within  a  week 
after  the  above  conversation,  Frederick  Galton  received 
the  following  letter : — 

"  My  dear  young  Friend, — I  have  been  appointed 
your  Mentor,  so  henceforth  revere  me  accordingly.  iTou 
are  to  come  up  to  town  for  the  ^  Long,'  and  to  be  lodged 
in  my  neighborhood — ^  under  my  eye,'  as  yoiu'  uncle 
calls  it.  This  is  to  make  a  pupil  of  you  indeed.  We  will 
cultivate  literature  together  upon  a  little  oatmeal,  with 
Percival  Potts.  You  only  associate  his  name  at  present 
with  your  rejected  communications,  but  I  hope  you  will 
be  better  friends  on  acquaintance.  He  is  a  very  eminent 
person — for  Heaven's  sake,  remember  that,  if  you  hap- 
pen to  learn  it  now  for  the  first  time — and  really  a  good 
creature  under  his  cloak  of  conceit.  How  I  envy  you, 
about  to  exchange  Arcadia  for  Burlington  Arcadia  for 


224  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

the  first  time !  Give  old  Hermann  a  friendly  dig  in  the 
ribs,  and  put  dear  Ptiemy  in  remembrance  of  me  by  a 
kiss.  Be  sure  you  bring  with  you  a  Camford  cheese, 
some  brawn,  and  sundry  sausages — these  are  the  pro- 
ductions of  Alma  Mater  by  which  she  will  really  live — 
and  leave  behind  all  your  Greek  and  Latin.  Potts  keeps 
Horace  on  draught  here,  as  it  were;  I  tell  him  it  is  not 
pleasant  kept  in  tcoocl;  but  nothing  stops  him.  Your 
future  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend, 

'^J.  JOHNSOX." 

Frederick  had  been  already  prepared  for  this  invita- 
tion by  a  letter  from  his  father,  breathing  the  most  affec- 
tionate anxiety,  but  without  a  word  of  complaint,  or 
reference  to  his  own  disappointment.  A  tinge  of  sadness 
ran  indeed  through  every  sentence,  like  the  water-mark 
in  a  bank-note,  to  eyes  that  scanned  it  carefully ;  but 
his  son  did  not  observe  it.  "How  kind  of  my  dear 
father,^'  thought  he,  "  to  let  me  take  my  own  way  in  life, 
and  to  begin  it  so  soon.^'  And  he  wrote  a  grateful 
answer.  But  he  did  not  know  how  that  reply  was 
received ;  how  the  fluttering  hope  in  the  doctor's  bosom, 
that  his  boy  might  even  yet  refuse  to  leave  him,  was 
thereby  miserably  quenched,  and  succeeded  by  the  heart- 
ache; and  how  the  loving  eyes  henceforth  grew  dull, 
having  naught  to  make  them  glad,  and  the  gray  head 
drooped  from  that  day.  He  came  to  know  it,  as  so 
mTny  of  us  learn  such  things,  too  late — too  late,  when 
Death,  the  Antichrist,  has  touched  the  ear  we  should 
have  soothed,  with  his  cold  hand,  and  said,  "  Be  deaf.'' 

The  young  man  was  greatly  elated  by  the  prospect 
before  him,  and  in  the  humor  to  be  pleased  with  every- 
body. Meeting  Meyrick  in  the  street  that  day,  whom 
he  had  not  spoken  with  since  that  unfortunate  supper- 
party  at  the  latter's  rooms,  he  frankly  held  out  his  hand, 
with  a  "Come,  Jack,  let  us  part  friends.  I  am  not 
going  back  to  Casterton,  but  shall  be  in  London  all 
'  the  Long.' " 


DE    LERNAY's    second    S02s-IX-LAW.      225 

"Why,  in  London?"  asked  Meyrick,  with  a  mistrust 
quite  unmistakable,  but  for  which  Frederick  was  at  a 
loss  to  account. 

"  Oh,  because  that  is  where  Grub  Street  is  situated, 
which  is  where  I  am  to  live  in  future.  How  is  the 
squire,  your  father  ?  Come,  let  us  have  a  chat  together. 
Which  way  are  you  vralkiug  ?  It  is  all  the  same 
to  me."    ' 

Meyrick  answered  doggedly :  "  Oh,  I  wasn't  going  to 
walk  anywhere.  I  was  going  to  Monsieur  de  Lernay's, 
to  bid  them  good-by.  I  go  down  to-morrow.  When 
do  you  go  down  ?  " 

This  question  was  asked  with  an  interest  which  might 
have  seemed  complimentary  but  for  the  harsh  unfriendly 
tone. 

"  I  leave  for  town  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  replied 
Frederick ;  and  annoyed  at  the  way  in  which  his  advances 
had  been  received,  he  added  rather  maliciously,  "  and  I 
might  just  as  well  say  good-by  to  the  De  Lernays  now 
as  later,  so  I'll  come  with  you." 

M.  de  Lernay  and  his  daughter  were  both  at  home. 
Frederick  had  not  set  eyes  upon  Eugenie  since  his  inter- 
view with  Dr.  Hermann,  -  and  indeed,  had  purposely 
avoided  her,  lest  he  should  give  any  color  to  the  Prin- 
cipal's absurd  suspicion.  But  he  had  thought  of  her  a 
great  deal.  When  we  like  a  person  for  his  or  her  own 
sake,  and  afterwards  hear  the  particulars  of  their  history, 
our  interest  is  ahvays  more  excited  that  if  the  informa- 
tion had  preceded  the  acquaintance.  How  often  had  he 
wondered  at  what  might  be  the  cause  of  that  melancholy 
which  so  often  sat  upon  Miss  de  Lernay's  brow !  How 
he  respected,  nay,  revered  it,  now  I  How  it  chastened 
her  glorious  beauty,  as  she  sat  there  with  her  rounded 
arms  about  her  harp,  itself  discoursing  far  from  sorrow- 
ful music !  It  was  a  gay  air,  and  M.  de  Lernay  was 
accompanying  it  with  snatches  of  some  French  song,  and 
with  haruaonious  fillips  of  his  fingers,  when  the  two 
young  men  entered  the  drawing-room. 
14 


226  M  A  R  E  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

"  Pray,  do  not  let  us  interrupt  you,"  said  Frederick. 
"  It  is  a  most  charming  performance." 

"And  only  look  at  his  fingers  I  "  exclaimed  Meyrick, 
with  admiration  more  genuine  than  refined.  He  gener- 
ally spoke  of  M.  de  Lernay  in  the  third  person,  and 
regarded  him,  it  was  evident,  as  a  sort  of  intellectual 
acrobat,  ingenious,  indeed,  but  by  no  means  a  first-rate 
individual,  looked  upon  from  the  "gentlemanly"  point 
of  view.  It  would  have  been  impossible,  he  rightly 
conjectured,  for  Mr.  Tregarthen,  or  any  person  connected 
with  the  great  families  of  Downshire,  to  demean  them- 
selves by  such  grimaces,  airs,  and  motions  as  accompanied 
the  talk  of  the  voluble  Frenchman.  As  for  understand- 
ing what  he  said,  that  was  beyond  Mr.  John  Meyrick 
altogether.  Xotwithstanding  this  want  of  appreciation, 
M.  de  Lernay  was  habitually  complaisant  towards  the 
young  squire  of  Casterton,  and  upon  the  present  occasion 
endeavored,  with  great  patience,  to  teach  him  the  art  of 
filliping  the  fingers  to  music,  which,  as  all  Jack^s  fingers 
were  thumbs  in  the  matter  of  clumsiness,  was  rather  a 
hopeless  task.  In  contrast  to  this  extreme  civility 
towards  his  companion,  Frederick  could  not  help  remark- 
ing that  the  Frenchman's  greeting  to  himself  was  some- 
what cold  and  formal;  perhaps  what  he  had  recently 
heard  of  the  Count  Lamotte  had  unconsciously  imparted 
a  less  cordial  tone  to  his  own  voice,  which  had  been  thus 
promptly  repaid.  He  soon,  however,  forgot  the  circum- 
stance in  earnest  conversation  with  Eugenie,  whose  wel- 
come had  been  kind  'as  ever.  "And  so,"  said  she  after 
a  little  talk,  "  you  are  going  to  London  to  become  an 
author,  we  hear." 

"Ay,  but  to  forget  his  vulgar  Dulcinea  also,"  broke  in 
her  father,  laughing :  "  that  is  in  the  bond  as  well,  Mr. 
Galton,  is  it  not  ?  " 

If  the  ground  had  opened,  and  swallowed  Eugenie, 
harp,  and  all  before  his  eyes,  Frederick  could  scarcely 
have  been  more  astonished.  It  was  at  her  he  stared  for 
an  explanation  of  this  unexpected  rudeness,  this  inex- 


i)E  letxay's  second  sox-in-law.     227 

plicable  outrage  upon  the  part  of  the  polite  Frenchman ; 
but  her  countenance  expressed  as  great  surprise  as  his 
own — mingled,  however,  with  sorrow,  pain,  and  one 
transient  flush  of  scornful  indignation. 

"Really,  sir,"  returned  Frederick,  after  a  pause,  "I 
am  quite  at  a  loss  to  answer  you.  I  do  not  know  how 
much  or  how  little  of  my  private  affairs  have  been  con- 
fided to  you ;  most  improperly  confided  in  any  case,  but 
in  yours,  as  it  seems,  revealed  to  one  who  has  neither 
discretion  nor  good  feeling." 

"  My  dear  young  sir,"  replied  M.  de  Lernay,  coolly, 
"  I  am  desolated  at  my  mistake.  I  imagined  that  Mr. 
^Nleyrick  here  being  your  intimate  friend  and  near 
neighbor  when  at  home,  must  needs  be  in  possession 
of  all  the  facts  respecting  your  little — tendresse. — 
What  shall  we  call  it  ?  "  He  looked  towards  the  young 
squire. 

"You  may  call  it  what  you  like,  for  me,"  returned 
that  gentleman,  doggedly ;  "  for  I  don't  know  what  you 
are  talking  about." 

For  an  instant,  M.  de  Lernay's  eyes  shot  forth  "  Owl ! " 
"  Pig  !  "  but  his  voice  did  not  lose  its  sweetness,  nor  his 
lips  their  smile,  as  he  continued  :  "I  was  referring  to  our 
friend's  little  love-affair  at  Casterton." 

"  Oh,  ah,  the  dairymaid  !  "  exclaimed  ^Meyrick,  laugh- 
ing coarsely. 

Frederick  was  pale  with  rage,  his  teeth  ground  together 
savagely,  his  fingers  clutched  an  imaginary  throat ;  but  a 
voice  heard  by  him  alone  was  beseeching  peace.  "  For 
my  sake,"  it  Avas  whispering — "  for  my  sake,  Mr.  Galton, 
do  not  strike  him.     Spare  him,  spare  ??if." 

"  I  did  not  know  her  exact  profession,"  pursued  the 
Frenchman,  quietly  ;  "  but  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  she 
is  a  most  respectable  young  woman.  Even  Dr.  Her- 
mann, who  is  averse  to  the  match,  has  not  a  word  to  say 
against  her  upon  that  score.  It  is  through  him  that  I 
came  to  know  about  it,  for  otherwise" — here  he  smiled 
most   cheerfully — "  I   should    not    have   supposed    our 


228  MAERIED     BEXEATPI      HIM. 

yoimg  friend  to  have  been  engaged,  certainly  not. — My 
darling  Eugenie,  your  lips  are  quite  pale ;  this  room  is 
excessively  hot.'^  He  opened  one  of  the  glass  doors  that 
led  into  the  garden;  the  soft  June  air  flowed  in,  laden 
yv'ith.  the  perfume  of  flowers,  and  the  music  of  birds  ;  the 
deep  voice  of  a  neighboring  college  clock  was  telling  the 
three-quarters  of  some  sunny  hour ;  he  waited  for  this 
sound  to  cease  ere  he  continued :  "  You  see,  my  dear 
Mr.  Galton,  that  my  knowledge  of  this  little  matter  was 
arrived  at  in  the  simplest  way,  however  indiscreet  I  may 
have  been  in  rej)eating  it.  It  was  not  told  me  as  a  secret 
■ — on  the  contrary,  the  good  President  entreated  me  to 
do  my  best  to  dissuade  you  from  w^hat  he  considers  a 
most  imprudent  marriage.  But  then  he  does  not  know 
the  power  and  consolations  of  love ;  that  is  to  say — I  beg 
pardon  of  ^Madame  Hermann — at  least  of  young  love; 
and,  above  all,  he  made  the  great  mistake  of  supposing 
me — me,  of  all  men — to  belong  to  the  same  worldly 
school  as  himself.  Now,  unhappily  (for  I  envy  abov^e 
all  things  your  prudent  calculating  folks),  I  am  the  most 
impulsive  creature;  Vive  V amour  has  always  been  my 
motto.  If  a  young  man's  tastes  lead  him  to  marry 
early" — here  he  looked  with  steadiness  at  Mr.  John 
Meyrick — " ma foi,  let  him  do  it:  he  has  my  full  con- 
sent. I  had  thought  to  please  you,  Mr.  Galton,  by 
embracing  your  views  of  this  affair ;  but  I  seem  to  have 
bungled  the  matter.  I,  who  used  to  |)ride  myself  upon 
my  tact — I  protest  I  feel  quite  humiliated." 

"  1  do  not  wonder  at  that,  Monsieur  de  Lernay," 
observed  Frederick,  coldly.  "  I  had  come  to  say  good- 
by  to  you  and  yours;  it  will  be  a  longer  farewell  than  I 
anticipated,  that  is  all.  You  have  inflicted  protracted 
pain,  in  the  fruitless  endeavor  to  make  yourself  intel- 
ligible to  a  vulgar  nature." 

"  He  means  me/^  observed  Mr.  John  ^'sleyrick,  naively; 
"  but  he  may  say  what  he  likes :  hard  words  break  no 
bones;  let  them  laugh  that  win."  And  he  winked,  yes, 
positively  winked  at  M.  de  Lernay,  nodding  his  head  at 


DE 


lehxay's  second  sox-iy-LA-\v.     229 


the   same    time   in    the   direction    of   that    nobleman's 
danghter. 

Eugenie,  white  as  alabaster,  was  still  sitting  by  her 
harp, 'clutching  its  voiceless  strings.  A  sculptor  taking 
her  for  his  model  might  have  called  hev  frozen  music. 
Her  eves  were  looking" upward,  and  her  parted  lips  were 
moving,  although  in'l^ilence,  like  a  martyr  praving  for 
strength  to  bear  her  sufferings ;  or  even  (so  ])assing  fair 
she  looked)  for  the  pardon  of  her  persecutors. 

She  had  not  seen  young  Meyrick's  gesture,  that  was 
certain,  and  Frederick  felt  so  far  thankful.  Perhaps  she 
had  not  even  heard  his  words. 

"  Miss  de  Lernay,"  said  he,  "  I  am  deeply  grieved  to 
have  been  the  involuntary  cause  of  this  unpleasant  and 
whollv  unexpected  scene.  ^Your  father  has  not  succeeded, 
I  trust,  in  his  object  of  degrading  me  in  your  eyes.  ^  I  do 
not  feel  that  I  have  anything  to  reproach  myself  with,  or 
to  have  earned  this  insult  in  any  way."  He  took  her 
hand,  which  was  as  cold  and  white  as  snow.  "  Good-by, 
Eugenie,"  he  murmured. 

"  Is  it  the  English  custom,"  inquired  M.  de  Lernay, 
carelesslv,  "  to  address  young  ladies  who  are  not  relatives 
by  their  Christian  names  ?  "  • 

*  "  Yerv  true,"  observed  Mr.  John  Meyrick,  and  point- 
ing a  threatening  finger  toward  his  ancient  playmate,  he 
added:  "come,  that" lady's  hand  is  mine;  so  do  you 
drop  it." 

"Can  this  be  true?"  asked  Frederick,  with  a  look  of 
unutterable  pitv. 

But  Eugenie's  voice  was  frozen  as  the  palm  which  still 
lav  in  his  own. 

'"It  is  true,"  returned  M.  de  Lernay,  with  dignity^; 
"and  it  seemed  to  me  but  right  that  you  should  know  it." 

Frederick  stood  for  a  moment  astounded  with  these  evil 
tidings.  Then  Indignation  getting  the  upper  hand  of 
Compassion,  and  joining  with  Contempt  and  Hate— ay, 
it  might  be  with  Jealousy  herself— he  exclaimed  with 
bitterness :    "  I    take    mv  'leave,    ^Monsieur   de    Lernay, 


230  MARRIED     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HI  M. 

uiriliiiig  you  joy,  sir,  of  this  projected  alliance ;  but  it 
seems  to  me,"  he  added,  drawing  close  to  the  French- 
man's ear,  and  hissing  ont  his  words,  ^^that  you  are  not 
more  felicitous  in  your  second  son-in-law  than  you  were 
in  your  first/' 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

CLOUDLESS. 

^^  TTTHAT  will  it  cost  to  print,  is  a  reflection  often 
YV  occurring  to  literary  men,  public  characters, 
and  persons  of  benevolent  intentions."  And  never  did 
advertisement  speak  more  truly.  What  passion  in  an- 
cient times  answered  to  the  modern  desire  of  appearing  in 
print,  I  knov/  not;  but  if  nothing  occupied  its  place, 
human  nature  cannot  be  altogether  what  it  used  to  be. 
There  are  few  things  more  touching  than  the  first  attempts 
of  a  youth  to  make  his  ideas  known  to  his  fellow- 
creatures  through  tlie.  medium  of  the  printing  press. 
^Mothers  and  others  are  affected  almost  to  tears  by  the 
lispings  of  a  little  child  endeavoring  after  articidate 
speech,  but  in  reality  this  is  a  far  less  moving  spectacle. 
There  are  a  host  of  female  relatives,  and  often  a  devoted 
male  or  two,  eager  and  willing  to  help  the  prattling  infant, 
and  anticipate  its  meaning;  but  the  young  author  has 
every  man's  hand  against  him  and  (in  general)  most 
especially  those  of  his  own  household.  The  literary  pro- 
phet has  no  honor  among  his  brethren;  he  is  not  an 
author  to  his  valet-de-chambre,  nor  to  anyb'.)dy  else.  The 
public,  he  is  assured,  are  in  no  want  of  lucubrations,  and 
the  editors  will  not  give  him  a  chance  of  disproving  the 
fact.  Of  course  the  editors  are  in  most  cases  perfectly 
right.  The  world  of  readers  (in  spite  of  what  it  suffers, 
as  it  is)  owes  them  an  enormous  debt  of  gratitude ;  they 


CLOUDLESS.  231 

are  our  natural  protectors  and  guardians.  They  are  the 
barriers  which  close  the  flood-gates  of  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  private  mental  reservoirs,  and  confine  them 
within  their  legitimate  limit — manuscript.  "Were  these 
removed,  an  intellectual  catastrophe  would  occur  similar 
to  the  inundation  at  Sheffield.  We  are  much  incon- 
venienced, even  as  matters  are,  by  a  number  of  sjiallow 
turbid  streams,  which  had  (we  humbly  opine)  much 
better  be  sealed  up ;  but  if  all  the  people  who  clamor  or 
cringe  for  room  for  their  effusions  in  this  or  that  peri- 
odical, were  admitted  thereunto,  the  consequences  would 
be  frightful.  The  public — that  is,  the  small  portion  of 
the  humail  race  who  were  left  to  be  readers  only — 
would  then  rise  as  one  man,  and  destroy  all  printing 
presses. 

I  do  not  speak  of  the  publication  of  books,  because  the 
publishers  are  a  class  of  persons  fully  capable  of  taking 
care  of  their  own  interests,  and  will  not  undertake  any- 
thing,— no,  not  though  the  Muses  should  seek  Paternoster 
Row  in  person  to  beseech  them — whereat  Jupiter  Mudie 
shakes  his  honored  head;  while,  as  for  publishino^  at  one's 
own  expense,  young  authors  are,  providentially,  almost 
always  poor.  Moreover,  if  a  wishy-washy  book  does  get 
published,  nobody  need  read  it :  whereas,  in  the  case  of  a 
periodical,  one  takes  it  in  '^  for  better  for  worse ; "  and 
having  paid  six  months'  subscription  in  advance,  perhaps, 
one  likes  to  have  one's  money's  worth  out,  even  if  the 
literary  fare  set  before  us  be  not  of  the  best.  But  though 
editors,  as  I  have  said,  are  to  be  praised  for  what  they  do, 
or  rather  for  what  they  decline  to  do,  yet  it  is  certain  that 
now  and  then  they  make  a -mistake,  and  the  victim  of 
their  error  suffers  cruelly.  It  was  of  him  (or  her)  I  was 
thinking  when  I  began  this  chapter;  of  the  young  man 
(or  woman)  of  genuine  talent,  who  believing,  with  justice, 
in  himself,  cannot  gain  a  single  convert  to  that  pleasant 
creed.  I  do  not  insist,  like  certain  highflying  writers 
upon  this  subject,  that  this  young  soul  has  any  sense  of  a 
particular  ''  mission,"  which,  somehow  or  other,  untoward 


232  MAEPtlED     BENEATH     HIM. 

fate  will  not  permit  it  to  fulfil ;  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
it  yearns  after  something  which  seems,  and  is,  unjustly 
denied  it.  The  young  are  permitted  to  entertain  a  little 
vanity.  One  pities  the  fate  of  the  beautiful  princess  shut 
up  in  the  lonely  tower  with  nobody  to  admire  her  loveli- 
ness ;  and  why  should  we  not  compassionate  the  unknown 
writer,  vainer  than  any  girl  of  the  beauty  of  his  unaccepted 
thoughts?  Vain  as  a  girl,  did  I  say?  a  girl  is  in  that 
matter  a  very  philosopher  compared  with  him ;  a  girl, 
too,  may  become  an  old  woman  without  a  tinge  of  that 
weakness  left  in  her  composition — I  know  a  dozen  of 
such  honest  w^holesome  dames  myself — whereas  the  true 
Avriter  is  always  vain  to  the  very  last.  It  is  mercifully 
appointed  that  his  ow^n  good  opinion  of  his  talents  shall 
never  leave  him,  for  otherwise,  sensitive  to  blame,  to 
ridicule,  to  hatred,  as  he  is,  his  life  would  indeed  be  a 
wretched  one. 

Conceive,  then,  such  a  youth,  sitting  up  o'  nights  to 
compose  immortal  verses,  that  no  human  being  perhaps 
is  destined  ever  to  read,  but  which  he  confidently  imagines 
\vill  be  one  day  welcomed  by  half  the  human  race ;  con- 
structing the  most  ingenious  plots,  in  w4iich  no  living 
novel-devourer  will  ever  be  entangled  ;  elaborating  essays 
of  the  most  admirable  moral,  and  in  the  most  Addisonian 
English ;  taking  more  English  ;  taking  more  pains  and 
trouble  about  these  profitless  matters  than  his  father,  the 
conveyancing  barrister,  or  the  consulting  physician,  ever 
put  themselves  to,  ere  delivering  an  "  opinion  ^^  that 
brings  guineas,  and  everything  that  guineas  buy. 

Is  there  not  something  to  touch  the  heart  about  this 
unrequited  labor,  about  this  young  toiler  wdio  is  fed  by 
hope  alone?  If  it  were  possible  to  convince  him  that 
nothing  he  writes  would  be  ever  read,  he  would  cease,  per- 
haps, from  writing  (prose,  at  all  events)  altogether;  but 
this  is  not  possible,  and  therefore  he  works  on.  Force, 
it  is  said,  is  never  lost.  What,  then,  becomes  of  all  these 
literary  efforts?  AVell,  I  will  tell  you.  They  will  serve, 
although  useless  in  their  present  form,  to  suggest  better 


CLOUDLESS.  233 

things  in  future  days,  whew  the  brain  is  seasoned,  and  the 
writer  has  found  his  pul)lie.  But,  in  the  meantime,  surely 
this  is  a  bad  case.  How  many  precious  manuscripts  has  he 
carefully  written  out,  and  folded,  and  addressed,  and  taken 
])rivately  with  his  own  hands  to  the  nearest  post-office, 
or,  if  in  town,  to  the  fatal  box  with  "  For  Contributions  " 
on  it,  at  the  office  of  the  journal  whose  columns  he  aspires 
to  fill;  then  having  dropped  it  in,  having  lost  control  of 
his  own  productiou,  what  a  life  of  agony  he  leads  !  How- 
he  regrets  not  having  added  this,  or  excised  that,  oitthat 
he  did  not  take  more  pains  in  the  calligraphy,  or  that  he 
ever  dropped  it  in  that  box  at  alL 

This  is  not  a  laughing  matter,  my  smiling  friend,  I  do 
assure  you.  Crede  experto.  You  jest  at  scars  who  never 
felt  a  wound  ;  but  if  your  ill  luck  had  decreed  that  you 
should  "embrace  the  literary  profession  '' — to  use  a  some- 
what voluptuous  metaphor  for  a  very  prosaic  proceeding 
— you  woilld  know  that  there  are  few  occasions  more 
unpleasantly  anxious  than  that  to  which  I  have  alluded. 
AVhen  personal  poverty,  and — worse — the  necessity  for 
supporting  others,  are  involved  in  the  matter,  you  can 
easily  perceive  that  the  ensuing  suspense  would  be  torture  ; 
but  happily  this  is  rarely  the  case.  Few  young  persons, 
who  have  to  earn  bread  for  themselves  or  others,  are  so 
tnad  as  to  put  faith  in  their  pens.  It  is  quite  enough  to 
be  on  the  tenter-hooks  of  expectation  upon  one's  own 
account,  and  with  respect  to  praise,  let  alone  pudding; 
for  upon  the  acceptance  or  rejection  of  the  aforesaid  manu- 
scripts seem  to  hang  future  fortune,  fame,  and  the  grati- 
tude of  one's  fellow-countrymen  throughout  all  ages. 
Whether  that  poem  addressed  '^  To  a  Falling  Tear" 
(suppose)  shall  appear  in  the  forthcoming  issue  of  the 
Ephemeral  (price  twopence),  is  a  Cjuestion  fraught,  I  say, 
with  enormous  apparent  consequences  to  the  youthful 
poet,  who  buys  the  next  number'  upon  the  first  moment 
of  publication,  and  tears  it  apart  with  trembling  fingers 
that  will  not  brook  the  intervention  of  the  paper-knife. 
How  his  cheeks  burn,  and  his  eyes  kindle  with  hopeful 


234  MARRIED      BENEATH     H  1  M . 

expectation  ;  and  again,  how  his  features  pale,  poor  fellow, 
and  '^go  out/'  as  it  were,  when  his  disappointment  be- 
comes certain.  He  searches  the  accursed  serial  again  and 
again  before  this  takes  place,  clinging  to  the  wretched 
chance  that  he  may  have  overlooked  the  thing,  that  those 
lynx-like  eyes  of  his  may  have  passed  by  their  desired 
object.  Vain  thonglit  I  At  last,  blank  despair  seizes 
upon  him.  "What  is  it  to  him  that  the  sun  shines,  or  that 
the  spring  is  coming  upon  the  earth  ? — all  with  him  is 
iiiglit  and  winter.  Desolation  has  marked  him  for  her 
ovrn — for  four-and-twenty  hours  at  least,  after  which  time 
he  begins  to  reflect  that  it  was  hardly  likely,  not  possible, 
in  fact,  that  the  '^  Falling  Tear  '^  should  have  been  pub- 
lished so  immediately,  and  looks  out  with  as  eager  long- 
ing as  before  for  the  next  appearance  of  the  Ephemeral. 
But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  the  poem  happens  to  be  printed 
in  the  number  in  question  (which  we  are  always  suppos- 
ing it  deserves  to  be),  what  transcendental  bliss  ensues ! 
Don't  talk  to  me  (wlio  have  been  married  these  twenty 
years)  of  the  first  kiss  of  love ;  that  is  very  pleasant,  no 
doubt,  but  it  is  a  transient  gratification,  and  you  can't 
carry  it  away  with  you,  and  show  it  to  your  friends  in 
the  country.  Xo,  there  is  no  rapture,  take  it  altogether, 
for  durability  and  cheapness,  as  well  as  many  other  things, 
like  that  derived  from  one's  first  appearance  in  print. 
Xothina:  else  brin2:s  the  vouno^  blood  into  the  cheek  so 
merrily,  and  sets  the  heart  beating  to  such  a  glorious  tune. 
See  how  his  eyes  sparkle  as  he  reads  and  re-reads  that 
product  of  his  own  brain,  which  shall  now  permeate  the 
civilized  world,  cross  the  ocean  deeps,  and  elevate  the 
savage.  He  is  unaware  that  the  circulation  of  the  Ephem- 
eral is  small  and  mainly  confined  to  the  district  of  St. 
Mary  Axe. 

Heaven  forbid  that  he  should  be  disenchanted  I  Who 
would  be  so  cruel  as  to  dispel  that  glittering  vision  ? 
And  which  of  us  old  stagers,  hacks  of  Grub  Street,  to 
whom  the  sight  of  print  has  become  as  hateful  as  that  of 
handcuffs  to  the  confirmed  pickpocket,  which  of  us  does 


C  L  O  U  D  L  E  >  >  .  235 

not  wish  that  he  could  once  more  e:it(.'iiain  such  dreams  ! 
Happy  youth,  star-bespangled,  flower-crowned,  playing 
out  thy  brief  extravaganza,  far  be  it  from  me  to  tell  thee 
what  a  crowd  of  vulgar  people,  who  have  all  their  parts 
to  play  as  well  as  thou,  and  are  not  mere  "  supers,"  alas  I 
are  waiting  at  the  wing  to  '^come  in"  presently^critics, 
rivals,  bailiifs,  devils  (printers'  and  blue).  There  is  no 
man  who  has  written  for  publication  at  all — no,  not 
though  he  should  have  been  born  correspondent  to  the 
Economist — but  has  experienced  something  of  poetic  eleva- 
tion consequent  upon  his  first  appearance  in  print.  The 
country  gentleman  who  puts  forth  his  pamphlet  upon  the 
building  of  laborers'  cottages,  with  a  view  to  decoration 
as  well  as  comfort,  is  not  exempt  from  this  feeling,  when 
the  first-proof  comes  home  from  his  printer,  any  more 
than  the  budding-poet  I  have  in  my  mind,  although,  of 
course,  the  latter  experiences  it  in  a  higher  degree.  How 
many  times,  think  you,  had  our  young  friend.  Master 
Frederick  Galton,  surreptitiously  sought  the  cottage  at 
Casterton,  where  ginger-bread  nuts  and  bull's-eyes  were 
issued  in  moderate  quantities,  and  from  whence  also  went 
forth  his  Majesty's  mails?  How  many  parcels  of  manu- 
script, and  at  what  an  expense,  considering  that  the  book- 
post  was  not  as  yet  invented,  had  he  cast  into  that  letter- 
box, as  bread  upon  the  waters,  and  found  again  (poor 
fellow),  after  many  days,  returned  through  the  same 
channel !  How  he  would  leave  his  home  before  break- 
fast, and  seek  the  windy  Down,  in  order  to  meet  the 
postman,  and  deprive  him  of  the  private  bag  belonging 
to  the  doctor,  that  nobody  should  know  of  these  literary 
disappointments,  save  himself  I 

Even  at  Camford,  he  experienced  a  great  thrill  of  joy 
when  the  Paternoster  Porcupine  came  to  hand,  with  one  of 
his  own  productions  among  its  other  less  interesting  con- 
tents, although  this  was  now  getting  to  be  quite  a  common 
event.  At  first,  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  had  been  cruelly 
fastidious,  and^  Mr.  Percival  Potts  had  been  absolutely 
hostile,  as  it  became  a  sub-editor  to  be  towards  a  protege 


-Job  M  A  E  E  I  E  D      B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

of  his  principal ;  but  presently  both  these  gentlemen, 
being  men  of  discernment,  perceived  that  there  was  genius 
as  well  as  freshness  in  the  lad,  and  that  it  was  to  the 
interest  of  their  mao^azine  that  he  should  be  encourawd. 
Experience  of  life,  of  course,  he  had  not;  but  he  had 
wonderful  intuition  in  place  of  it;  while  high  spirits, 
inestimable  gift,  almost  always  denied  to  a  well-seasoned 
writer;  that  virtue  to  which  Dickens  owes  so  much  of  his 
charm,  but  which  poor  Thackeray  never  possessed — 
illumined  every  page.  The  young  man  was  not  unaware 
of  his  own  value ;  the  simple  test  of  comparison,  applied 
by  however  partial  a  mind,  can  scarcely  lead  one  very  far 
wronor  in  these  matters;  he  studied  the  writincr  of  the 
well-remunerated  Snooks,  who  was  in  the  same  line  of 
business,  and  said  to  himself,  without  the  slightest  hesita- 
tion :  "  I  am  a  far  better  humorist  than  this  fellow  ;''  and 
Frederick  Galton  was  right.  He  perceived,  in  that 
pleasant,  chatty  communication  just  receival  from  Mr. 
Jonathan  Johnson,  an  invitation  not  only  to  London,  but 
to  Literature,  so  far,  at  least,  as  the  Paternoster  Porcu- 
pine was  concerned.  It  would  have  been  couched  in  very 
different  terms,  he  knew,  if  he  had  been  looked  upon  as 
an  impracticable  contributor,  whose  importunity  was 
about  to  become  personal  instead  of  merely  postal ;  for  as 
long  as  a  man  can  be  kept  off  by  a  letter,  there  is  comfort, 
but  when  he  arrives  within  .arm's-length,  he  becomes 
intolerable. 

Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  occupied  ground-floor  apart- 
ments in  that  part  of  Piccadilly  which  looks  upon  the 
Green  Park  :  these  consisted  of  a  gigantic  dining-room, 
the  northern  portion  of  which  was  always  plunged  in 
gloom ;  a  bed-room  of  similar  proportions ;  and  a  study 
at  the  back  of  the  house,  out  of  which  you  might  step, 
if  you  were  so  minded,  into  a  small  conservatory,  over- 
shadowed by  two  Araericau  aloes  in  green  tubs,  and 
ornamented  by  a  female  form.  '^  We  don't  know  who 
she  is,''  stammered  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson,  upon  exhib- 
iting these  premises  to  our  young  friend,  on  the  first 


CLOUDLESS.  237 

evening  of  his  arrival;  ^^ but  I  call  her  the  An — an — 
an — an — '' 

'^  The  AnonvQia,"  suggested  Galton,  fresh  from  his 
classical  studies. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  sir,"  returned  the  editor,  with 
contemptuous  indignation ;  "  I  call  her  the  Anomalv, 
because  when  she  works  she  only  plays.  But  she  scarce!  v 
ever  does  play,  except  in  winter  for  a  few  minutes,  when 
the  pipes  burst  after  a  frost.  Percival  Potts  keeps  his 
tobacco  in  her  pitcher  because  he  says  it's  such  a  dry 
place ;  but  Tve  got  you  a  lodging  close  by,  and  if  ever 
she  plays,  I'll  send  for  you.  What  a  fortunate  young 
dog  are  you,  to  commence  a  literary  life  in  Mayfair ! 
What  a  future  may  not  be  before  you,  who  have  money 
to  start  with,  and  kind  friends  at  home!" 

"And  in  London,  too,  I  am  sure,  sir,"  observed  Fred- 
erick, frankly. 

"That  is  well  thought  of,  and  happily  said,"  mused 
the  editor,  regarding  the  blushing  youth  as  though  he 
were  an  inanimate  study.  "Speaks  witliout  a  stammer, 
too;  some  people  have  such  luck ;  and  quite  as  good- 
looking  as  I  was  myself  at  the  same  age.  Lord  I  ho\\- 
Potts  will  hate  him!" 

"  I  am  afraid  that  he  is  not  very  fond  of  me  alreadv 
if  I  may  judge  by  his  letters,*'  returned  Frederick, 
laughing. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Percival  Potts  is  an  admirable  person 
in  many  respects ;  but  -he  does  not  like  men  younger 
than  himself,  and  being  of  tolerably  ripe  yeai*s,  that 
enlarges  his  antipathies ;  neither  is  he  fond  of  persons 
that  are  in  better  circumstances,  and  being  a  poor  man, 
why,  that  gives  him  all  the  more  scope  for  prejudice. 
Then  you  -must  be  prepared  for  making  rather  an  un- 
favorable personal  impression  upon  him,  because  he  is  ugly 
— he  is  sometimes  called  the  Billiard  Ball,  being  both 
*  Plain '  and  '  Spot'  in  one — and  that  circumstance  of  course 
sets  him  against  nice-looking  people.  Whenever  Potts 
quarrels  with  me,  poor  fellow,  I  always  set  it  down  to 


238  M  A  R  K  1  E  D      B  E  >  £  A  T  H      HI  jI  . 

jealousy.  But  in  spite  of  these  little  disadvantages,  he's 
a  most  valuable  man.  I  know  of  no  one  who  can  put 
more  animosity  into  a  review.  If  he  had  never  learned 
Horace  (out  of  a  ^crib/  as  I  fancy),  he  would  be  more 
agreeable  as  a  conversationalist;  but  I  have  delivered 
you  from  that  for  the  present,  by  betting  him  a  guinea 
that  he  does  not  abstain  from  quoting  his  favorite  author 
for  a  fortnight,  and  Potts  will  always  do  his  very  best 
for  a  guinea — that's  a  beautiful  trait  in  him.  He  will 
probably  confine  himself  to-morrow  to  his  classical  anec- 
dotes. If  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  listen  to  them 
attentively.  It  is  our  working-day  at  the  office,  so  I 
will  take  you  into  the  City  after  breakfast,  and  introduce 
you  to  my  collaborateur.  I  have  some  writing  to  do  be- 
fore I  go  to  bed,  so,  unless  you  will  take  supper,  I  will 
show  you  your  lodgings." 

Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  had  already  entertained  his 
young  friend  with  a  nice  little  dinner,  washed  down  with 
excellent  champagne,  since  which  they  had  had  coffee 
vrith  a  jyetit  verve  in  it,  so  that  Mr.  Frederick  Galton  was 
by  no  means  in  want  of  any  further  refreshment.  His 
host  therefore  led  the  v>'ay  to  the  apartments  lie  had 
already  engaged  for  him,  which,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
curious,  I  may  as  well  state  comprised  a  second  floor  in 
Bolton  Bow. 


CHAPTER    XXIY. 

A    XIGHT-WALK     IX    LOXDOX. 

WHAT  a  poem  in  itself,  I  have  said,  is  that  fiirst 
appearance  in  print,  which  seems  to  some,  per- 
haps, such  a  prosaic  matter ;  and  what  a  poem,  also,  is 
another  ordinary  circumstance  which  happens  to  even  a 
greater  number  of  people — namely,  one's  first  night  in 


A     NIGHT-WALK     lis      LONDON.  S-A^ 

London.  lu  the  daytime,  the  stranger  is  so  dazed  with 
tlie  ceaseless  crowd  and  monstrous  hum,  that  he  has  had 
no  time  to  reflect  upon  the  wonders  about  him ;  but  in 
the  summer  night  (suppose),  as  he  leans  forth  from  his 
window,  and  hears  the  distant  traffic  that  will  not  cease 
for  hours  yet,  and  looks  round  on  the  countless  dwellings 
of  his  fellow-creatures,  ignorant  of  his  hopes,  and  fears, 
and  ambitions,  and  even  of  his  very  existence,  how  ''  the 
individual  withers,  and  the  world  grows  more  and 
more." 

If  the  hypothetical  stranger,  however,  has  inaugurated 
his  arrival'  by  going  to  the'Cider  Cellars,  and  making  a 
night  of  it,  he  will  doubtless  not  experience  any  emotion 
of  this  kind ;  or  if  there  is  the  least  uncertainty  about 
procuring  breakfast  next  morning,  that  cil-cumstance  will 
undoubtedly  monopolise  his  mind,  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
less  practical  considerations.     I  have  no  desire  to  claim 
more  empire  for  the  imagination  than  it  is  entitled  to. 
I  don't  believe  that  Bow^Bells  said  anything  whatever 
to  AVhittington  about   his  future  appointment  as  Lord 
Mayor.     They  discoursed  to   him,  more  probably,  con- 
cerliing  the  food  and  accommodation  he  was  likely  to 
meet  with  upon  the  ensuing  day.    There  is  nothing  more 
enoTossing  to  a  man  with  an  empty  stomach  than  the 
idea  of  getting  it    filled;    compared  with    that    sacred 
necessity,  theology,  politics,  metaphysics  are  of  insignifi- 
cant importance^  even  to  a  gentleman  of  genius.     There 
is  an  immense  deal  talked  and  written  about  the  supe- 
riority of  mind  over  matter,  by  respectable  persons  who 
have  never  experienced  hunger  and  thirst;  but  I  have 
never  seen  philosophy  and  an   empty  stomach   in  com- 
pany together  yet.     Let  the  dull  dogs  take  heart.     But 
as  for  this  Frederick  Galton,  with  whom  everything  is 
running  smoothly  at  present,  it  is  but  natural  (I  do  assure 
them)  tliat  he  should  lean  out  of  his  second-floor  win- 
dow, and  indulge  himself  in  a  little  philosophical  medita- 
tion.   This  London,  which,  to  a  poor  and  friendless  man, 
is,  I  suppose,  the  most  hateful  place  on  earth,  and  more 


240  M  A  Tv  E  r  E  D    BENEATH     HIM. 

solitary  than  sailless  sea  to  shipwrecked  mariner,  is,  to 
one  who  has  just  crossed  its  threshold,  with  a  well-filled 
purse  and  ready-made  friends,  the  most  promising  city 
out  of  Fairyland.  It  is  so  when  mere  Pleasure  is  beck- 
oning with  her  fair  round  arms,  but  how  much  more 
when  Fame  stands  beside  her,  smiling  too,  but  far  more 
nobly,  and  eager  to  present  her  wreath  of  bay-leaves. 
The  golden  gate  stood  open  upon  the  shining  road ;  the 
glory  beamed  upon  him,  not  from  far.  A  mighty  music 
jubilant  and  full,  which  had  his  praise  for  theme,  seemed 
to  salute  the  trembling  ear  of  Frederick  Galton  as  he 
hearkened  for  the  first  time  to  that  solemn  roar  of 
London. 

Then  his  thoughts  slid  back  to  the  incidents  which 
had  so  lately  occurred  to  him.  The  confidence  which 
Dr.  Hermann  had  reposed  in  him,  and  which,  under  the 
influence  of  passion,  he  had  betrayed  to  M.  de  Lernay. 
He  pictured  to  himself  the  previous  meeting  which  must 
have  taken  place  between  those  two,  and  how  the  Prin- 
cipal, acting  for  the  best,  had  made  a  confidant  of  the 
Frenchman  with  respect  to  his  young  friend's  attach- 
ment to  a  person  of  humble  birth,  and  to  the  supposed 
influence  which  the  beautiful  Eugenie  exercised  over 
him.  He  perceived  how  De  Lernay's  pride  had  been 
touched  by  this  injudicious  news;  for,  perhaps,  he  had 
really  misconstrued  Frederick's  intentions  to  his  daugh- 
ter, and  at  one  time  had  been  disposed  to  welcome 
them. 

There  was  some  allowance  to  be  made  for  the  old 
nobleman,  then,  so  far  as  Frederick  was  concerned.  It 
was  a  characteristic  piece  of  revenge  that  he  should  thus 
have  humbled  him  in  the  presence  of  John  Meyrick,  an 
eligible  suitor  enough,  so  far  as  money  and  position  were 
concerned ;  but  that  the  father  of  Eugenie  should  have 
given  such  gratuitous  pain  to  his  own  daughter  seemed 
almost  incomprehensible.  \Yas  it  possible  that  he  sus- 
pected her  of  entertaining  a  secret  affection  for  the  village 
doctor's  son,  and  had  taken  this  cruel  method  at  once  of 


A     NIGHT- WALK     IN     LONDON.  241 

intimating  his  suspicions,  and  putting  a  violent  end  to 
them?  Could  he  himself  meet  the  De  Lcrnays  again, 
thought  Frederick,  after  having  exploded  that  bomb-shell 
about  the  second  son-in-law  ?  Was  it  possible  that  be 
should  never  more  behold  the  kind  eyes  of  Eugenie,  or 
listen  to  her  witching  tones;  or  worse,  was  he  to  know 
her  as  the  bride,  the  wife  of  his  old  playmate,  to  whom 
time  would  only  bring  new  vices,  and  harden  the  in- 
grained coarseness  of  his  disposition?  It  was  nothing 
to  Frederick,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  whom  Eugenie 
married,  certainly  not;  but  it  pained  him  to  think  of 
what  her  life  was  likely  to  be,  mated  with  such  a  clown ; 
and  his  cheeks  flushed,  and  his  nails  pressed  hard  into 
his  hands,  as  he  thought  of  John  Meyrick.  Of  all  the 
men  from  whom  he  had  just  parted  at  Camford,  his 
Casterton  companion  was  certainly  the  least  attractive. 
There  were  ten,  twenty,  thirty  honest-hearted,  kindly 
young  English  gentlemen,  with  any  one  of  whom — Selby, 
Richards,  Ackers,  Swayne,  their  very  names  even  oc- 
curred to  him — he  could  have  borne  to  hear  that  Eugenie 
de  Lernay  was  betrothed — but  to  that  unfeeling  dullard  ! 
What  a  scoundrel  w'as  this  sweet-spoken,  smiling  French- 
man, who  could  sell  his  daughter  to  such  a  bidder! 
They  were  coming  up  to  town,  it  seemed,  shortly. 
Would  it  be  better  that  he  should  meet  her  again,  or 
not?  there  could  be  no  "harm''  in  his  doing  so,  of 
course ;  but  would  it  be  agreeable  to  herself?  Somebody 
else,  who  was  of  infinitely  more  importance  to  him,  was 
also  coming  up  to  town.  'Beautiful  Mary  Perling  would 
be  at  a  certain  number  in  Grosvenor  Square  in  a  very- 
few  days. 

It  was  not  worth  while  making  his  good  father 
anxious  by  informing  him  of  this  latter  circumstance. 
As  for  Mr.  Morrit,  all  confidence  betw^een  uncle  and 
nephew  had  been  put  an  end  to  by  the  conduct  of  the 
former.  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  was  not  the  sort  of  man 
to  be  plagued  with"  information  of  this  kind — and,  in 
short,  what  need  was  there  to  tell  anybody?  Grosvenor 
15 


242  MAREIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

Square !  He  looked  out  that  fashionable  spot  in  the  map 
of  London  he  had  purchased  that  afternoon ;  it  did  not 
seem  far  from  Bolton  Row,  his  present  residence,  and  he 
thought  he  would  like  to  see  the  very  house  where  his 
dear  Mary  was  to  be  located.  There  was  a  latchkey 
h'lncr  temptingly  upon  his  table,  and  the  night  was  early 
vet  f  it  had  not  struck  ten  o'clock.  He  pocketed  the 
kev,  and  putting  his  hat  on,  went  down-stairs ;  in  the 
hall  he  found  his  landlady,  with  whom  he  had  already 
had  an  interview. 

"Going  to  take  a  walk,  sir,  this  beautiful  night?" 
said  she,  with  fussy  politeness.  "  You  will  find  your 
candle  and  the  matches  upon  the  table  when  vou  come 
in." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Frederick.  Charming  old  lady, 
delightful  arrangement,  thought  he ;  nobody  is  inquisi- 
tive in  town.  What  a  fuss  there  is  at  Camford  about 
"  knocking  in  "  after  midnight !  AVhat  an  astonishment 
would  there  be  at  Casterton  if  one  started  out  at  9.45 
P.M.  for  a  stroll ! 

Among  the  accomplishments  which  Alma  Mater  had 
taught  him  was  that  of  smoking  cigars,  and  he  lit  one 
ere  he  left  the  door-step. 

"A  nice-spoken  young  gentleman,"  reflected  the  land- 
lady, looking  after  him ;  "  but  I  am  afraid  he  is  no 
better  than  he  should  be.  Mr.  Johnson  said  I  wasn't  to 
be  a  spy  upon  him — far  from  it ;  but  that  I  was  to  let 
him  know  if  he  got  into  much  mischief,  being  fresh  from 
the  country.  How  on  earth  am  I  to  tell  ?  He  doesn't 
seem  to  be  domestic,  using  his  latchkey  the  very  first 
evening.  I  hope  he  won't  set  the  house  a-fire  wlien  he 
comes  back ;  perhaps  I  had  better  sit  up,  for  fear  he 
should  have  taken  more  than  is  good  for  him.  One 
never  knows ;  though  he's  gone  the  wrong  way  for  that. 
All  the  drinking-places  are  in  the  other  direction. 
Maybe  h&s  got  friends  in  Mayfair,  though  it's  rather  an 
odd  time  to  call  upon  them." 

The   old'  ladv   waeored    her    head    three   times    in   a 


A     X  I  G  H  T-  W  A  L  K      IN      L  O  S  T>  O  S  .  243 

sagacious  manner,  and  closed  the  door  with  an  ^'Ah  !  " 
expressing  a  whole  volume  of  reprehension. 

Unaware  of  that  injurious  interjection,  Mr.  Frederick 
Gal  ton  took  his  ■^ay  up  Curzon  Street,  just  beginning  to 
be  alive  with  its  more  or  less.fashionable  assemblies,  and 
noisy  with  wheel  and  hoof,  and  so,  bv  a  circuitous  pro- 
cess, reached  the  square  he  sought.  There  was  nothing 
about  the  mansion  in  question  peculiarly  fitting  the  future 
abode  of  a  beloved  object !  a  couple  of  paroquets,  in  the 
shape  of  two  young  footmen,  lounging  and  laughing  at 
the  open  door,  seemed  to  give  token  that  their  master 
and  mistress  had  relieved  them  of  their  laborious  duties 
that  evening  by  going  out  to  dinner ;  and  grandeur  and 
vu-lgarity  appeared  to  hold  divided  possession  of  the 
place.  How  could  he  ever  visit  her  there,  being,  as  she 
must  needs  be,  in  the  housekeeper's  room  !  AVould  not 
these  powdered  apes  treat  him  with  impertinence  when 
he  asked  to  see  her?  He  had  read  of  such  things  in  the 
case  of  governesses,  and  a  housekeeper's  assistant  would 
be  in  an  even  less  elevated  position.  I^ay,  would  it  not, 
indeed,  be  necessary  for  him  to  ring  the  servant's  bell? 
Heavens!  It  is  astonishing  how  these  little  matters 
affect  very  superior  minds,  my  friends.  Mr.  Frederick 
Galton,  poet,  author,  gentleman,  and  who  privately  con- 
sidered himself  in  the  order  of  nobility  which  is  called 
"nature's  own,"  considerably  above  any  ordinary  mem- 
ber of  the  House  of  Peers,  felt  quite  a  cold  shiver  as  he 
thought  of  these  things;  the  great  iron  extinguishers 
upon  either  side  of  the  portal  seemed  for  the  moment  as 
though  they  were  placed  there  to  quench  the  torch  of 
love  itself.  The  effects  of  a  supposed  slight  upon  a 
sensitive  nature  being  such  as  I  describe,  what  may  not 
a  real  one  effect !  It  is  said  that  a  prime  minister  of  this 
country  owed  the  enmity  of  his  most  powerful  parlia- 
mentary foe  to  having  put  upon  him  some  little  dis- 
paragement. Foolish  M.P.,  but  far  more  foolish  prime 
minister!  AVhen  will  people  of  all  grades  learn  that 
cleanliness  is  not  next  to  godliness,  but  that  civility — a 


244  MAERIED      EE^'EATII      HIM. 

tenderness  for  the  feelings  of  others,  and  especially  for 
those  of  apparent  inferiors — occupies  the  intermediate 
place. 

To  the  possession  of  that  virtue,  such  as  it  is,  Frederick 
Galton — who,  I  am  afraid^  has  fallen  into  sad  and  de- 
served disfavor  with  many  folks  already,  and  will  fall 
into  more — might  lay  legitimate  claim.  He  had  once 
Iain  awake  half  the  night  at  Camford,  tortured  with  the 
notion  that  he  had  spoken  roughly  to  his  bedmaker  upon 
the  previous  day,  on  the  occasion  of  her  having  let  his 
fire  out ;  and  very  much  he  astonished  that  lady  the  next 
morning  by  his  sincere  apologies.  Perhaps  the  secret  of 
Frederick's  universal  popularity  lay  more  in  this  careful 
courtesy — a  sort  of  divine  politeness,  unintelligible  .to 
vulgar  natures — than  in  any  other  of  liis  natural  gifts ; 
it  clung  to  him  at  all  times — even  in  very  bad  ones — as 
the  odor  to  the  rose;  if  he  ever  did  himself  such  violence 
as  to  refuse  alms  to  a  street-beggar,  it  would  have  been 
in  terms  that  would  be  only  less  acceptable  than  a  copper. 
But  I  believe  he  never  had  the  heart  for  such  an  act  of 
Spartan  virtue.  At  all  events,  when  he  left  Grosvenor 
Square  that  evening,  and,  sauntering  into  Hyde  Park, 
was  besought  by  a  little  beggar-girl  for  money,  he  gave 
her  a  shilling,  adding  to  the  gift  some  expression  of  pity 
for  her  condition. 

Ah,  it  was  pitiful, 
Xear  a  whole  cityful, 
Home  she  had  none. 

The  Park,  she  said,  was  in  surnmer-tiuie  her  nightly 
refuge  ;  the  dewy  grass,  or  some  hard  bench,  perhaj^s,  tiie 
couch  upon  which  she  stretched  her  childish  limbs. 
The  night  was  fair,  it  was  true,  as  yet,  but  clouds  were 
darkening  its  face  and  threatening  rain.  How  frightful 
did  it  seem  that  this  young  creature  should  be  shelter- 
less! The  cheerful  home-lights  were  glimmering  from  a 
thousand  casements  within  view,  but  there  was  not  one 
that  beckoned  for  her — a  child  wliom  it  was  the  duty  of 
every  one  to  protect  and  cherish.     "Was  it  not,  therefore^ 


A     XIGHT-WALK     IN     LONDOX.  245 

Frederick  Galton's  duty  too?  Had  Christianity— the 
words  he  had  read,  the  sermons  he  had  heard — no  practi- 
cal application  ?  Should  he  not  one  day  be  told  :  Inas- 
much as  he  had  not  succored  tliis  little  one?  Considera- 
tions of  this  kind  do  not,  of  course,  seriously  affect  the 
mature  philosopher,  the  political  economist,  or  the  divine ; 
but  in  the  season  of  youth,  there  are  occasions  when  they 
strike  us  very  forcibly. 

The  glorious  com])any  of  the  angels,  thought  Frederick, 
might  at  that  moment  be  anxiously  watching  what 
course  1:his  mortal  would  take  who  had  been  offered  such 
an  opportunity  of  obeying  his  Master's  word  to  the  very 
letter.  '^  Suppose,"  soliloquized  he,  ^'  I  take  this  child, 
and  give  her  to  my  landlady,  she  will  never  take  her  in 
— that's  certain.  The  poor  little  creature  is  dirty  and 
ragged,  and  thereby  has  the  more  claim,  indeed,  to  all 
Christian  offices ;  but  lodging-house  keepers  are  a  preju- 
diced race.  To  ring  up  a  respectable  lady  at  11.15  p.m., 
upon  the  very  first  night  of  our  arrival  at  her  residence, 
with  the  modest  request  that  she  will,  for  our  sake, 
accommodate — adopt,  in  point  of  fact — a  human  waif 
and  stray  like  this ;  really,'^  muttered  Frederick,  apolo- 
getically, ^'  I  don't  see  what  is  to  be  done.  Look  here, 
my  poor  child,"  added  he,  aloud;  "if  you  will  call 
to-morrow  at  this  address,  I  will  try  to  do  something  for 
you." 

The  large  blue  eyes  looked  at  him  gratefully,  but 
wonderingly.  She  knew  that  he  meant  her  well,  because 
he  had  given  her  a  shilling ;  but  the  notion  of  anybody 
trying  to  do  something  for  her  was  an  inscrutable 
mystery.  Her  whole  life  long,  comprising  half  a  dozen 
years  or  so,  passed  in  that  (to  some,  so  agreeable)  metrop- 
olis, offered  no  precedent  of  the  kind. 

"  My  God  ! "  cried  Frederick,  taking  out  a  whole 
pocketful  of  silver,  ^^  but  this  i$  terrible.  Have  you  no 
mother,  father,  friend  ?  " 

The  child  shook  her  little  head,  a  mere  tangle  of  hay- 
colored  hair,  which   would  have  been  a  "profusion  of 


246  M  A  E  E  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HIM. 

bright  brown  locks  "  under  better  circumstances,  and  was 
evidently  about  to  say  :  "  Xo,  sir/'  when  a  thin  squeaky 
treble  interposed  with  :  "  Oh  you  wicked  story,  Mary 
Jane,  to  tell  the  gentleman  you  have  no  friends  when 
father  is  on  the  bench  under  the  trees  tliere  in  a  haguc- 
fit,  and  your  poor  mother  down  with  the  fever." 

These  words  proceeded  from  a  boy  about  two  years 
older  than  the  first  child,  and  if  possible,  more  ragged. 
One  brace  passed  diagonally  across  liim,  and  secured  in 
front  by  a  pin  instead  of  a  button,  did  duty  for  both 
jacket  and  waistcoat.  A  filthily  dirty  shirt,  and*a  pair 
of  torn  and  ragged  trousers,  (comprised  his  entire  costume  ; 
he  had  not  even  shoes  and  stockings,  a  circumstance  which 
accounted  for  his  liaving  come  upon  Frederick  and  his 
companion  unawares. 

He  spoke  with  that  whine  which  mendicants  use  so 
much  to  their  own  confusion,  under  the  impression  that 
it  arouses  pity,  and  not  suspicion  ;  but  the  glance  with 
which  he  contemplated  the  money  that  still  lay  in 
Frederick's  open  palm,  was  frightfully  natural.  He 
gazed  at  it  hungrily,  wolfishly,  and  with  a  sort  of  fiendish 
envy,  as  some  shipwrecked  starving  man  might  gaze  at  a 
loaf  in  the  hands  of  his  mortal  foe. 

^'Is  he  going  to  give  you  all  that?"  he  inquired  of 
the  girl.  Then  sliifting  his  quick  earnest  tone  to  the 
beggar-note,  he  added  :  "  Heaven  bless  you,  good  gentle- 
man." 

"  Xo,"  replied  Frederick,  returning  the  money  to  his 
pocket,  '-I  am  not  going  togi^e  her  anything  at  present. 
He  says  you  have  been  telling  me  lies,  little  girl." 

The  child  stood  with  downcast  eyes,  but  without  tears 
or  change  of  color.  Hard  words  were  given  her  every 
hour;  she  was  even  thankful  when  they  fell  to  her  lot 
instead  of  blows.  *  The  boy  seized  her  roughly  by  the 
shoulder. 

'^  Yes,  you  are  a  little  liar,  Mary  Jane,  as  the  good 
gentleman  says.  She  will  go  a-begging,  on  her  own  hook, 
for  all  father  can  do;  and  she  don't  give  him  the  money 


A    .s  I  <_;  II  r  -  yr  a  l  k    i  x    l  o  x  d  o  ^  .         247 

neither,  and  him  so  ill ;  lying  on  the  bench  yonder,  with 
the  hague." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  sleeps  in  the  open  air,  with 
ague  upon  him  ?  "  asked  Frederick,  horrified. 

'^Ah,  yes,  sir,  nights  and  nights  he  does — there  he  lies, 
sir,  in  that  little  clump  of  trees,  if  you'll  come  and  see 
for  yourself.  It's  more  sheltered  for  him  amongst  the 
trees." 

Frederick  followed,  really  grieved  at  the  falsehood  of 
the  little  child,  and  prepared  to  give  something  to  the 
sick  man.  But  the  angels  did  not  any  longer  seem  to 
him  to  be  interested  in  the  spectacle.  Impulsive  gen- 
erosity is  a  very  delicate  virtue,  and  easily  blunted. 
The  whole  affair,  in  which  a  few  moments  before  his 
eternal  welfare  seemed  to  be  concerned,  now  began  to  be 
a  nuisance. 

The  girl  laid  her  small  hand  upon  his  coat-cuff,  as 
though  she  would  entreat  his  forgiveness,  and  although 
he  did  not  shake  her  off,  he  disengaged  himself  from  her 
coldly.  As  he  did  so,  he  noticed  her  eyes,  which  were 
absolutely  distended  with  terror. 

"Stop,'  boy,"  said  he,  '^  mind  that  you  do  not  say 
your  sister  told  me  stories;  I  don't  want  her  to  be 
punished." 

"Very  well,  sir,  Mary  Jane  shan't  be  beat.  We're 
close  to  father  now,  sir,  if  you'll  step  out." 

Frederick  quickened  his  steps,  but  looking  down  at 
the  girl,  perceived,  although  it  was  far  from  light  by  this 
time,  that  she  was  making  signs  to  him  not  to  follow  the 
boy.  Her  little  mouth  was  rounded  to  a  "  no,'^  although 
she  kept  silence.  In  an  instant  it  struck  him  that  her 
terror  was  upon  his  account,  rather  than  her  own.  He 
stopped  short.  At  the  same  instant,  two  men  came 
swiftly  from  the  trees  in  front,  and  made  straight  at  him. 
*'Eun,  run !  "  cried  the  little  girl.' 

Frederick  Galton  turned,  but  behind  him  already 
stood  a  figure  which  had  noiselessly  placed  itself  between 
him  and  the  path  of  retreat.     Westward  the  way  was 


248  MAE  EI  ED     BENEATH     HIM. 

yet  open,  but  one  of  his  opponents  was  already  running 
to  cut  him  off  from  that  direction.  It  was  evidently 
intended  to  drive  him  into  the  clump,  wherein,  although 
it  was  by  no  means  thick,  there  might  be  ropes  placed  to 
trip  him  up,  or  more  robbers  in  hiding  behind  the  tree- 
trunks. 

To  the  west,  therefore,  Frederick  turned,  and  sped 
away  at  topmost  speed.  Fortunately,  he  had  no  great- 
coat on,  and  he  flattered  himself  with  reason  that  could 
he  once  show  his  heels  to  the  three  scoundrels,  they 
would  not  easily  catch  him.  Xot  for  nothing  had  he 
followed  the  bounding  hoops  untouched  by  hand  over  the 
windy  downs.  Still,  even  a  town-bred  man  may  be 
swift  for  a  mere  rush,  and  the  one  who  had  undertakeu 
the  task  of  cutting  him  off  had  probably  been  chosen  for 
that  post  on  account  of  his  speed. 

The  roof  of  the  guard-house  could  be  seen  in  the 
distance  just  rising  out  of  the  hollow,  and  for  that  Fred- 
erick shaped  his  course.  He  heard  a  rushing  of  winged 
feet  behind  him  and  about  him ;  he  believed  that  at  one 
particular  point,  when  he  was  striving  his  hardest,  a  hand 
was  stretched  forth  to  seize  him,  and  did  just  graze  the 
skirt  of  his  garment;  but  he  was  aware  of  noticing  for 
certain  until  he  came  at  racing  speed  and  head  foremost, 
against  some  soft  substance  advancing  in  the  opposite 
direction,  from  whiclj  he  rebounded,  and  then  spun  round 
in  spite  of  himself  li*ke  a  billiard-ball  which  has  got  the 
screw  on.  This  obstacle  v,'as  a  strange  gentleman's  waist- 
coat. 

Not  in  the  least  doubting  that  he  had  fallen  in  with 
another  robber — to  which  profession  he  was  prepared  by 
this  time  to  set  down  most  Londoners  who  took  the  air 
at  night — Frederick  began,  with  what  little  breath  was 
still  left  in  him,  to  vociferate  "  Police  !  police  !  "  notwith- 
standing that  the  stranger  wore  as  respectable  an  appear- 
ance as  a  silk  umbrella  and  double  eye-glasses  can  give  a 
man.  These  latter,  when  fixed  over  the  nose  by  a  spring, 
generally  impart  to  the  wearer  some  likeness  to  a  water- 


A     NIGHT- WALK     IX     LONDON.  249 

beetle ;  but  in  the  present  case  the  similarity  was  perfect. 
No  other  insect  could  have  expressed  such  vacuous 
astonishment.  It  was  nearly  a  minute  before  self-com- 
placency was  restored  to  th«  stout  stranger,  and  pomposity 
reassumed  her  throne. 

"  Police,  indeed  !  "  ejaculated  he.  "  Upon  my  word, 
young  man,  I  envy  your  audacity.  You  commit  a  mur- 
derous assault  upon  an  unoffending  citizen,  and  then  call 
upon  the  law  to  sanction  your  crime.'' 

"  Sir,"  replied  Frederick,  "  I  am  deeply  grieved  ;  but 
the  fact  is,  I  was  pursued  by  robbers — footpads." 

"Pursued  by  camel-leopards,"  retorted  the  stranger, 
contemptuously  ;  "  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  footpad  in 
existence ;  the*  Enclosure  Act  has  done  away  with  them 
and  their  haunts  together.  It  was  your  conscience  that 
pricked  you  to  that  speed,  young  man.  The  wicked 
fleeth  when  no  man  pursueth." 

"There  were  three  men,"  persisted  Frederick.  "I 
saw  them  all  as  plain  as  I  see  you." 

"An  optical  illusion,"  returned  the  stranger,  confi- 
dently. 

"  If  a  little  girl  had  not  cried  '  Run  ! '  I  should  have 
been  robbed,  and  perhaps  murdered,  by  this  time." 

"  There  is  nothing  more  easily  deceived  than  the  hear- 
ing," persisted  the  stout  gentleman,  "  and  especially  if  we 
are  suffering  from  self-reproach.  Bessus,  the  Pseonian, 
who  had  secretly  committed  parricide,  was  harassed  in 
precisely  the  same  manner.  Being  at  dinner  on  one 
occasion,  he  arose  up  hastily,  and  with  his  spear  began  to 
break  a  nest. of  swallows  that  was  made  upon  the  outside 
of  his  house,  and  to  kill  the  young.  '  Why  are  you  so 
angry  that  the  swallows  twitter?'  asked  the  guests. 
^Twitter?'  said  he.  ^ Oh,  you  call  it  twittering,  w- hen 
vou  hear  them  thus  false^ly  accusing  me  of  having  slain 
ray  father.' " 

"But  I  really  have  not  committed  parricide,"  urged 
Frederick,  smiling  at  the  strange  humor  of  his  new  ac- 
quaintance. 


250  MAEEIED      BENEATH     HIM. 

"  That  is  nothiDg  to  boast  of,"  returned  the  other, 
austerely ;  "  and  besides,  I  dare  sav  you  have  done  worse 
things.  Fathers  are  sometimes  very  annoying.  —  And 
now,  will  vou  please  tell  me  the  whole  story,  with  the 
denouement  of  which  I  am  only  too  well  acquainted." 

Then  Frederick  explained,  that  being  a  young  gentle- 
man from  the  country,  he  had  come  out  for  his  first  walk 
in  town  that  evening,  and  had  met  with  the  adventure 
which  had  been  already  described.  "The  little  girl," 
insisted  he,  "  had,  I  am  sure,  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  it.  She  never  intended,  I  am  certain,  to  entrap  me 
in  the  snare  which  the  boy  led  me  into.  I  never  saw  a 
more  genuine  object  of  charity." 

"  Charitv — and  very  often  the  object  of  it — covers  a 
multitude  of  sins,"  observed  the  philosopher,  demurely. 

"Xot  in  this  case,  however,"  returned  Frederick, 
warmly :  ''  I  owe  my  safety  to  that  little  child,  I  know. 
I  am  so  afraid  they  will  take  some  cruel  vengeance  on 
her  for  having  striven  to  warn  me  of  my  danger." 

''  Thev  will  give  her  a  smack  or  two,  doubtless,"  ob- 
served the  stranger;  "but  that  is  all.  The  desire  of 
revenge  for  its  own  sake  is  dying  away,  along  with  the 
other  heroic  virtues.  There  was  something  glorious  in 
those  old  revenges.  That  calix  vike,  calix  mortis  of  the 
Earl  of  Luxemburg,  when  he  was  poisoned  by  the  monk 
in  the  eucharist,  haunts  one's  memory  like  the  refrain  of 
some  ballad." 

"I  wish  I  could  meet  with  a  policeman,"  exclaimed 
Frederick,  impatiently. 

"  Then,  again,  there  vras  that  other  Italian,'*  pursued 
the  stranger  with  enthusiasm,  "'  who,  having  his  enemy 
in  his  power,  told  him  that  there  was  no  possible  way  to 
save  his  life,  unless  he  would  immediately  deny  and 
renounce  his  faith ;  which  the  jfoor  wretch  having  done, 
in  hope  of  mercy,  his  enemy  stabbed  him  to  the  heart, 
killing,  as  he  believed,  his  body  and  soul  in  the  same 
moment.     Again,  Olcarius  tells  us — " 

''  My  dear   sir,"  interrupted   Fx'ederick;  vehemently, 


NIGHT-WALK     IN     LONDON. 


251 


"would  you  mind  coming  back  with  me,  since  I  cannot 
see  either  park-keeper  or  policeman  ?  " 

"I  should  mind  it  very  much,  young  gentleman. 
Have  you  not  had  enough  of  adventure  for  one  night? 
Be  content  with  your  whole  skin.  Either  your  three 
friends  and  the  two  interesting  children  are  still  in  the 
clump  of  trees  you  speak  of,  or  they  are  not— and,  as  I 
believe,  never  were.  In  the  one  case,  it  would  be  mad- 
ness to'  retrace  vour  steps,  in  the  other,  folly.  If  you 
have  given  the' little  girl  your  address  and  she  is  the 
innocent  being  vou  imagine  her  to  be,  she  will  doubtless 
call  at  vour  lodgings  to-morrow  ;  otherwise,  she  will  avoid 
them  as  she  ^ould  a  police-office.  My  way  lies  south- 
ward, and  I  recommend  vou  to  accompany  me  till  we 
get  out  of  the  park:  it 'is  only  just,  since  you  have 
delaved  me  bevond  gate-shutting,  that  you  should  help 
me  over  the  railings^  Popilius  would  have  almost  done 
as  much  for  Cicero.'' 

"Sir,"  said  Frederick,  "I  am  in  your  hands,  lou 
doubtless  know  what  outrht  to  be  done  better  than  I. 
But  how  disgraceful  is  it  that  Hyde  Park  should  not 
be   safe   to   walk    in!     I    shall    certainly    write   to   the 

Times.''  ,  .  t    •      ^ 

"You  had  better  write  to  the  Unicorn,  which  is  always 
upon  the  side  of  order,"  returned  the  stranger,  loftily, 
"of  which  it  is  onlv  right  to  say,  that  I  am  assistant 
editor.  It  is  the  duties  of  that  responsible  office  which 
have  kept  me  out  so  late,  otherwise,  I  love  early  hours— 
^  small  and  earlv,'  as  the  phrase  goes— as  Licinius  Crassus 
loved  his  lamprev.  Yonder  are  the  railings  between  us 
and  the  Kniixhtsbridire  Road ;  we  must  take  a  bee-line 
for  that  big  ehn-trec,  and  we  shall  find  that  three  of  the 
sharp  iron  heads  have  been  removed  thereabouts— I 
believe  by  the  licentious  soldiery— for  convenience  of 
ingress  and  egress."  •      i   r      ?? 

"You  have  been  belated,  then,  once  or  twice  betore, 
observed  Frederick,  slyly.  .   . 

"Just  so,"  said  the  stranger;  "  mostly  through  giving 


20l  MARRIED     B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HIM. 

benevolent  assistance  to  persons  in  peril.  Besides,  do 
you  contend  that  there  is  anything  seriously  wrong  in 
climbing  over  a  fence,  you,  a  young  reprobate,  with  a 
latchkey?  You  remind  me  of  Pope  Adrian  IV.  who, 
having  swallowed  as  many  camels  as  most  theologians, 
was  choked  by  a  fly  in  a  glass  of  water.  Come,  give  me 
a  leg  up." 

"  With  all  my  heart,''  replied  Frederick,  assisting  his 
stout  companion  in  the  manner  requested;  '*'  but  there  is 
somebody  abusing  us  already  for  getting  out  this  way." 

"  Give  him  railing  for  railing,"  ejaculated  the  stranger  ; 
"  he  is  some  miserable  official  appointed  by  a  Whig  min- 
istry. Thank  you,  ray  lad ;  my  lodgings  are  close  by. 
If  a  glass  of  toddv  has  charms  for  vou,  I  shall  be  happv 
to  offer  it." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  replied  Frederick, 
frankly;  '^  but  lam  somewhat  too  tired  to  appreciate 
your  good  company  this  evening.  I  should  much  like 
to  know,  however,  to  whom  I  am  indebted. for  the  kind 
invitation." 

^^  My  name,  sir,  will  probably  not  be  unknown  to  you," 
observed  the  stout  gentleman,  waving  his  hand  with  dig- 
nity. "As  a  political  writer,  who  has  been  mentioned  for 
more  than  one  borough  during  the  present  sitting  of 
parliament — as  a  Utttrafeur  of  some  little  eminence — as  a 
social  companion  of  unexceptionable  lineage,  whom  most 
persons  are  glad  to  welcome  to  the  friendly  board — in 
one  of  these  three  characters,  I  say,  it  is  probable  that 
vou  must  already  be  acquainted  with  the  name  of  Per- 
cival  Potts." 


EDI  TOE  I  AL.  253 

CHAPTER    XXY. 

EDITOEIAL. 

THE  office  of  the  Paternoster  Porcupine  was,  of 
course,  in  Paternoster  Row,  a  locality  fortunately 
better  known  than  frequented  by  tlie  inhabitants  of  the 
metropolis.  If  the  nine  Muses,  as  we  have  hypothetically 
imagined,  should  really  ever  visit  that  locality  in  person, 
thev  would  entirely  block  it  up  as  a  thoroughfare,  even 
though  they  should  leave  their  crinolines  in  Ivy  Lane. 
The  haunters  of  this  home  of  literature  are  characteristi- 
cally spare  and  thin,  and  an  author  may  pass  an  author 
upon  its  foot-pavement ;  but  "  Gin  a  body  (of  decent 
size)  meet  a  body  "  (of  decent  size) — if  a  publisher  meet  a 
publisher,  for  instance — one  of  them  must  either  lie  down, 
and  let  the  other  walk  over  him,  as  the  goats  are  said  to 
do  in  similar  circumstances,  or  step  into  the  roadway  and 
run  the  risk  of  being  flattened  out  by  a  van  full  of  tracts 
or  encvclop^edias.  Gin  a  van  meet  a  van,  I  do  not  know 
Avhat  eventually  liappens,  although  I  have  often  seen  the 
beginning  of  the  embarrassment. 

From  this  dark  and  confined  spot,  however,  issue  light 
and  freedom  enough,  as  sparkling  wine  flows  forth  from 
the  neck  of  a  black  bottle.  The  PorciqAne  had  its  office 
])leasantlv  situated  in  the  very  narrowest  part  of  this  so- 
called  thoroughfare,  and  when  it  shot  forth  its  periodical 
quills  on  the  last  day  of  every  month,  may  have  been  said 
to  be  unapproachable  by  the  general  public.  If  you  went 
in  the  wholesale  way  for  "^Pines,"  to  which  the  trade 
irreverentlv  abbreviated  the  title  of  that  serial,  you  might 
have  been*  listened  to;  but  the  author  of  the  "Falling 
Tear''  in  search  of  a  single  number  of  the  publication, 
would  have  been  trampled  under  foot  by  newsboys. 
Upon  the  morning  of  Frederick's  first  visit,  however, 
all  was  peace  with  the  Porcupine.     A  little  boy  stabbing 


254  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

at  flies  on  the  counter  with  a  penknife,  was  the  sole  occu- 
pant  of  the  shop ;  and  he  did  not  desist  from  that  excit- 
ing pastime  even  at  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson 
with  his  young  friend. 

Passing  by  this  shocking  illustration  of  the  truth,  that 
familiarity  breeds  contempt,  without  remark,  the  august 
editor  led  the  way  up  a  tortuous  staircase  into  the  sanctum 
sanctorum,  where  sat  the  collahorateur  of  the  Porcupine, 
the  assistant  editor  of  the  Unicorn,  the  gentleman  who 
had  been  spoken  of  for  so  many  boroughs — the  writer, 
the  politician,  the  conversationalist  so  justly  esteemed, 
or,  in  one  word — Potts.  Frederick  had,  of  course, 
acquainted  Mr.  Johnson  with  the  fact  of  his  having  met 
with  this  gentleman  the  preceding  night,  and  there  was 
now  no  need  of  an  introduction.  Still,  Mr.  Potts  rose 
up  at  their  entrance,  and  made  a  little  speech,  in  which 
he  compared  the  present  occasion  with  the  introduction 
of  Pope  to  the  great  Dryden,  and  was  pleased  to  pass  a 
few  compliments  upon  the  young  gentleman  from  Cam- 
ford,  sandwiched  with  exactly  double  the  number  upon 
himself. 

"We  have  several  articles  in  your  handwriting,  INIr. 
Galton,  in  yonder  cupboard,  which  is  the  blessed  home 
of  the  ^Accepted. ^  In  the  last  paper,  I  think,  I  recog- 
nize a  touch  or  two  of  my  own ;  never  mind,  my  friend ; 
I  am  not  angry :  they  will  bear  transplanting,  I  flatter 
myself:  only  do  not  imagine  that  you  deceive  me.  You 
have  not  read  my  pamphlet,  ^A  Lance  broken  with  the 
Times,'  for  nothing.^^ 

"  Peally,  sir,"  said  Frederick,  coloring,  "  I  was  not 
aware — " 

"I  have  not  the  least  doubt  of  it,"  interrupted  Perci- 
val  Potts,  surveying  his  supposed  plagiarist  with  the 
blandest  air :  "  no  person  of  your  age  is  at  all  aware  of 
what  is  really  his  own,  and  wdiat  is  tlie  property  of  other 
people." 

"The  law  takes  a  very  different  view  of  the  case,"  re- 
marked Frederick,  coolly. 


EDITORIAL.  255 

^'  I  am  speaking  of  ideas,  sir/'  returned  the  novelist, 
savagely.  '^  Here  are  fifty  manuscripts  upon  tliis  table, 
everv  one  of  which  is  going  to  be  'Declined  with  thanks ;' 
manV  of  them  contain  very  aduiirable  sentiments,  which, 
the  writers  would  blush  to  hear,  are  all  stolen  from  the 
great  classical  writers  of  old.  Pindar,  sir— the  poet 
Pindar  supplies  the  raw  material  for  three-fourths  of  your 
nineteenth-century  scribblers." 

''  Does  he,  indeed,  sir  ? "  observed  Frederick,  cheerfully. 
''Then  I  am  glad  I  never  read  him.'' 

"  You  have  read  others,  however,  who  have  read  him," 
remarked  Mr.  Potts,  severely ;  "  and  an  idea  is  not  ren- 
dered original  by  being  stolen  twice  over." 

"  I  think  vou  are  rather  hard  upon  our  young  coad- 
jutor," observed  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson,  perceiving  that 
Frederick's  amour  propre  was  wounded,  and  that  he  was 
about  to  say  something  rude.  "Have  you  sent  back 
Tompkins's  paper  ?  " 

''  There  is  his  horrid  scrawl,  sir,"  returned  the  collabo- 
rateur,  "  which  I  confess  I  did  not  give  myself  the  trouble 
to  wade  deeply  into." 

"  Whv,  you  have  scarcely  opened  it,"  remonstrated  tlie 
editor-in-chief,  taking  up  a  roll. 

"  O  ves,  I  have,"  replied  Mr.  Potts.  "  The  beggar  had 
fastened  the  pages  together  with  some  sticky  substance, 
on  purpose,  I  suppose,  to  see  if  I  did  pay  his  article  any 
attention ;  and  I  went  through  the  whole  thing  most  con- 
scientiously— with  a  paper  knife."  ^ 

"  Do  vou  mean  to  say  you  never  read  it  ?  "  ejaculated 
Frederick  Galton,  aghast. 

''I  read  cpiite  enough  of.it,  my  young  friend;  a  little 
of  Tompkins  goes  a  great  way.  I  seldom  read  your  own 
admirable  productions  to  the  very  end,  while  in  manu- 
script ;  first,  because  your  handwriting  is  infamous,  and 
resembles  the  dying  autograph  of  a  spider  escaped  from 
the  ink-pot;  and,  secondly,  because  I  wish  to  reserve 
for  mvself  what  I  know  will  be  a  treat  in  print. 
Abem." 


256  MARRIED      BEXEATH      HIM. 

^'And  how  much  does  Mr.  Johnson  read  ?  ^'  asked 
Frederick. 

"  Well,  jou  see/'  replied  the  head  of  the  literary  staff, 
'^  Potts  here  does  all  the  v:o\\ — wow — wow — " 

^^All  the  work,"  explained  Mr.  Potts ;  "  and  Johnson 
here  gets  all  the  salary." 

"All  the  wow — wow — winnowing,"  continued  Mr. 
Jonathan  Johnson,  without  taking  the  least  notice  of  the 
interruption.  '^  Potts  is  good  at  rough  wholesale  work 
of  that  kind.  He  has  a  blessed  gift  of  forgetting  to-mor- 
row all  the  rubhish  that  he  reads  to-day :  I  Avish  it  liad 
been  so  from  his  youth  up,  and  particularly  during  that 
period  when  he  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  Horace. 
Xow,  I  can't  foro-ct  what  I  read  so  easilv.  Potts  is  the 
intellectual  buffer,  as  it  were,  who  intervenes  between 
myself  and  the  great  mass  of  would-be  contributors.  My 
brain  could  not  stand  the  shocks  to  which  he  is  exposed 
so  continuously.  My  mental  organization  is  more  deli- 
cate, and  fer — fer — " 

"Feebler,"  suggested  ^Ir.  Percival  Potts. 

"And  fer — fer — finer,"  continued  the  editor-in-chief. 
"It  was  I,  my  dear  Galtou,  who  laid  my  finger  upon 
your  first  production,  and  observed:  Olark  my  words. 
Potts;  this  young  person  is  a  man  of  genius."' 

"Xow,  see  how  a  plain  tale  shall  put  this  man  down," 
observed  Potts,  with  gravity.  "  AVhen  my  principal  here 
returned  from  the  countr>'  after  Christmas :  ^  There  will 
be  something  foolish  come  to  the  office  one  day,'  said  he, 
'  with  the  Casterton  post-mark.  You  must  make  room 
for  it,  my  dear  fellow,  in  the  Porcupine,  and  put  it  in  as 
presentable  a  shape  as  you  can.'  I  remonstrated,  of 
course,  at  such  favoritism;;  but  Mr.  Johnson  only  re- 
marked :  ^  I  know  it's  wrong ;  the  writer  has  but  few 
ideas  of  his  own,  being  but  a  lad,  and  it  will  doubtless  be 
an  illegitimate  production ;  but  then  it  will  be  only  a 
very  little  one.     I  told  him  to  make  it  short.' " 

"  He  did,"  corroborated  Frederick,  laughing. 

"  ^But  his  uncle  is  a  very  old  college  friend  of  mine; 


EDITORIAL.  257 

he  quotes  from  the  classics  beautifully,  and  reuiinds  me 
of  you,  ray  dear  Potts.  And  he  gave  me  two  bottles  of 
twenty  port.^ — '  Mr.  Johnson/  said  I, '  you  are  the  editor- 
in-chief,  and  I  must  do  your  bidding ;  but  let  me  tell  you 
a  short  story.  Carolastad  had  been  made  a  Doctor  of 
Divinity  eight  years  before  he  ever  read  the  Bible;  and 
afterwards  conferring  the  same  degree  on  another  person 
equally  unfitted  for  the  position,  he  made  this  speech  : 
'  Here  I  stand,  and  do  promote  this  man ;  and  I  know  I 
do  not  rightly  therein,  but,  on  the  contrary,  commit  a 
mortal  sin.  But  I  do  it  for  the  gain  of  two  guilders  which 
I  get  by  him.'  I  pointed  out  that  Mr.  Jonathan  John- 
son was  Carolastad  the  second.  And  under  that  protest 
you  became  an  accepted  contributor.'' 

"And  all  these  rejected  papers?"  sighed  Frederick, 
pointing  to  the  piled-up  heap  upon  the  table.  "  What 
disappointment,  and  pain,  and  humiliation,  are  they  about 
to  inflict  I     I  wonder  you  sleep  o'  nights,  Mr.  Potts." 

''  He  does  not,"  remarked  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  ;  "for 
he  never  goes  to  bed  until  the  small  hours.  But  as  for 
feelings,  he  has  none.  See  I  he  has  written  ^  With  thanks' 
outside  that  scented  manuscript  of  the  young  lady  of  title ; 
and  on  the  literary  production  of  the  poor  governess  yon- 
der, composed  on  blue-lined  and  coarse  paper,  torn,  per- 
haps, out  of  her  washing-book,  with  the  same  unswerving 
fingers." 

"  The  clerk  copies  all  that  out  down-stairs,"  observed 
Mr.  Potts,  apologetically;  "otherwise,  I  should  have 
thrown  a  great  deal  of  sentiment  into  the  formation  of  the 
letters.  I  confess,,  however,  nothing  moves  me  so  much 
as  when  a  rejected  contributor  has  omitted  to  enclose 
postage-stamps  for  the  transmission  of  his  article.  AVhy 
the  deuce  can't  he  read  the  notice  printed  in  every  num- 
ber of  the  Porcupine  .^  Our  proprietors  don't  want  his 
stamps,  of  course,  but  where  am  I  to  get  the  Queen's 
heads  from  to  frank  my  private  correspondence,  unless  the 
regulation  is  observed?  This  stamp-sending  is  curious 
and  characteristic.  English  contributors  usually  enclose 
16 


258  MAEEIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

them  without  remark,  and  as  a  matter  of  course — I  am 
speaking  of  volunteer  communications  from  persons  who 
are  unknown  to  us — Scotch  contributors  enclose  them, 
and  draw  our  attention  very  particularly  to  the  fact  that 
they  have  gone  to  that  expense ;  Irish  contributors  never 
think  of  enclosing  them." 

"But  you  send  back  their  papers,  too,  I  trust,  all  the 
same,"  observed  Frederick. 

"  We  would  do  so  most  certainly,  and  especially  because 
natives  of  Hibernia  are  generally  very  solicitous  to  have 
them  back  again ;  but  not  one  in  ten  remembers  to  favor 
us  with  his  address.  Half-a-dozen  letters  will  follow  one 
another,  demanding  to  know  the  fate  of  the  original 
document,  but  all  of  them  composed  in  such  a  passion 
that  the  writers  still  omit  to  supply  those  few  lines  without 
which  we  are  totally  unable  to  comply  with  their  requests." 

"You  must  almost  regret  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
a  volunteer  contributor,  since  he  causes  you  so  much 
trouble,"  remarked  Frederick. 

"  Well,  no,"  returned  the  sub-editor,  musing.  "  There 
are  situations,  of  course,  such  as  when  a  poetess  of  five- 
and-forty  insists  upon  having  a  personal  interview,  and 
reading  her  horrid  verses ;  or  when  a  personal  friend, 
whose  talents  do  not  lie  in  the  literary  direction,  requests 
to  appear  in  print,  which  makes  one  wish  that  the  Porcu- 
pine were  fed  by  machinery,  or,  which  is  almost  the  same 
thing,  by  a  regular  literary  staff.  But  magazines  which 
have  a  standing  army  of  that  kind,  and  do  not  admit 
volunteers,  invariably  get  cliquey  and  narrow.  Even  if 
only  one  out  of  fifty  applicants  is  found  strong  enough  for 
the  place,  it  is  in  my  opinion  quite  wortli  the  trouble  of 
winnowing  all  this  claff." 

"Besides  which,"  observed  Frederick,  "it  cannot  but 
be  a  grateful  task  to  hold  out  the  hand  to  struggling 
talent,  to  quicken  a  weary  heart  with  a  few  strokes  of  the 
pen,  and  to  make  light  with  a  kindly  hint  or  two  the 
doubtful  way." 

"Exactly,"  remarked   the  editor,  dryly;    "only  you 


EDITORIAL.  -5'' 


must  be  deuced  careful  about  your  hints  And  when  a 
crentleman.  and  still  worse,  a  lady,  particularly  begs  that 
?the  faults  of  the  accompanying  manuscript  may  be 
pointed  out'  for  future  guidance-then  let  the  too  obl.g- 
ino-^itor  beware.  The  authoress  of  The  Brida  Gift 
in  seventeen  stanzas,  is  not  to  be  told  that  'accept  is  uo 
a  perfect  rhvme  to  '  reject,'  with  impunity  I  have  had 
such  rejoinders  out  of  pink-tinted  envelopes,  and  m 
altogether  angelic  handwriting,  as  might  have  had  Bil- 
linglgate  for  their  post-mark  instead  of  Belgravia. 
Besinat  in  piscem  muliei- formosa  siqjerne.  ,.       , 

"You  owe  me  a  gug-gug-guinea.  Potts,"  exc  aimed 
Mr.  .Jonathan  'Johnson,  eagerly.  "I  never  admired 
Horace  from  vour  tongue  so  much  before.  And  i  must 
«.w  it  serves  Vou  right  for  abusing  our  lady  volunteers. 
Remember,  for  instance,  that  dear  iliss  Hermann,  uow 
departed;  were  ever  patience,  and  genius,  and  good  sense 
found  united  together  more  charmingly  in  any  human 

"""!  have  nothing  to  say  agaiust  Miss  Hermann  ''ob- 
served the  sub-editor,  loftily  ;  "  but  I  flatter  myself  I  have 
lona  been  proof  asaiust  the  blandishments  of  females  of 
theViill-  Time  was  when  I  looked  with  a  favoring  eye 
upon  that  slantiug  handwriting  of  theirs." 

-Don't  believe  one  word  of  tins,  Galton,"  quoth  Mi. 
.Jonathan  Johnson  ;  "diis  is  the  merest  h>-pocrisy,  le  me 
tell  vou  Potts  is  the  idol  of  the  fair.  He  is  perpeuiall) 
being  crowned  with  roses  by  nymphs  ^yi^ff^^^i- 
with  blue  stockings.  If  they  survive  the  effect  of  hi, 
personal  charms  and  Hterary  reputation,  they  succumb 
to  his  ancient  lineage.''  ,  -, 

"  Do  not  sneer,  sir,  at  an  advantage  which  you  would 
know  well  enough  how  to  appreciate  if  you  possessed  i 
vour=elf,"  returned  the  sub-editor,  angrilv.  O-ootl 
•blood,  sir,"  (it  is  impossible  to  say  how  like  D^-  Johnson 
Mr.  Percival  Potts  became  as  he  spoke  these  «o  d=),  i= 
not  a  thing  to  be  spoken  lightly  of-the  blue  blood  of 
the  British  aristocracy." 


260  .M  A  E  E  I  E  D     BENEATH    'HIM. 

"A  pretty  color,"  remarked  the  editor-in-chief  with 
gravity.     "  Why  don't  they  take  sarsaparilla  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  vulgar  fellow,  sir/'  exclaimed  the  other, 
hotly;  '^I  decline  to  argue  with  you  altogether.  You 
know  that  my  family  is  as  good  as  any  in  England.  If 
you  go  to  the  Herald's  office  and  inquire  for  Potts — " 

"He  used  to  write  for  the  Morning  Herald,'^  observed 
Mr.  Jolinson,  explanatorily ;  "  that's  what  he  means." 

"I  say,  sir,  you  will  find  there  is  no  name  more 
associated  with  our  historical  greatness  than  that  which 
I  have  the  honor  to  bear."  Mr.  Potts  had  risen  with 
his  subject.  He  had  his  back  to  the  fireplace,  although 
there  was  no  fire ;  a  coat-tail  was  under  one  arm,  and 
the  other  was  extended  as  though  calling  the  past  to 
witness  to  the  achievements  of  his  ancestors.  "  There 
has  never,"  he  continued,  "  been  any  great  deed  effected, 
whether  in  the  senate,  or  in  the  forum,  or  upon  the 
battle-field,  but  it  will  be  found  on  investigation  that  a 
Potts  has  been  always  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

"And  never  at  the  top  of  it,"  ejaculated  Frederick, 
with  an  incontrollable  impulse. 

Mr.  Percival  Potts  cast  a  glare  through  his  spectacles, 
such  as,  if  they  had  happened  to  have  been  burning- 
glasses,  would  have  withered  his  young  contributor 
where  he  stood  ;  then  preserving  a  tremendous  silence 
he  dropped  his  coat-tail,  took  up  his  hat,  and  walked 
straight  out  of  the  room. 

"I  kuk — kuk — kuk — congratulate  you,  my  young 
friend,"  observed  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson,  ruefully. 
"  You  have  made  an  indifferent  joke  and  a  determined 
enemy  for  life.  Why,  even  I,  who  have  known  him 
these  twenty  years,  I  scarcely  venture  to  break  a  lance 
with  Percival  Potts  over  the  barrier  of  his  ancestral 
greatness." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Johnson,"  observed  Frederick,  frankly, 
"  I  am  sorry  to  have  offended  any  friend  of  yours,  but 
the  fact  is,  I  cannot  stand  a  gentleman  of  that  sort. 
Who  cares  about  his  confounded  familv  ?     What  a  sub- 


EDITORIAL.  261 

ject,  too,  for  a  human  being  to  be  tedious  upon  !     Surely, 
of  all  bores,  a  hog  in  armor  is  the  most  unbearable/' 

"  blaster  Frederick  Galton,  Master  Frederick  Galton/' 
returned  tlie  editor,  shaking  his  scanty  locks,  "it  is  less 
dangerous  to  have  a  talent  for  mimicry,  ay,  or  even  for 
drawing  caricatures,  than  for  making  an  epigram  like 
that.  Percival  Potts  is  a  man  who  is  not  accustomed  to 
hear  the  simple  truth,  and  far  less  the  truth  with  a  sting 
to  it.  He  is  the  kinix  of  a  little  territory,  the  inhabitants 
of  which  pay  him  abject  homage." 

"Dangerous  amongst  eggs  with  a  stick,  as  we  say  in 
Downshire,"  remarked  Frederick,  laughing. 

"And  not  only  then/'  continued  Mr.  Johnson,  gravely. 
"He  has  no  little  social  influence,  although  it  may  be  he 
is  less  loved  than  feared ;  while  he  is  really  of  consider- 
able political  mark ;  and  if  ever  the  Unicornis  man, 
Lord  Cuckoo,  comes  into  office,  depend  upon  it  we  shall 
hear  of  Potts.  Thev  sav  Lord  Peewit  is  o-etting  verv 
shaky." 

"  I  knew  nothing  of  all  this,  you  see,"  observed 
Frederick,  im])atiently.  "  Why  don't  he  wear  a  placard, 
or  the  Cuckoo  livery?  and  I  am  afraid  T  should  not 
have  held  my  tongue  even  then.'' 

And  his  apprehension  was  well  grounded.  For  there 
are  two  sorts  of  independent  spirits  in  the  world,  who 
are  never  known  to  mix  kindly.  The  one  to  which  Mr. 
Percival  Potts  belonged  believe  that  all  the  world 
!:>elongs  to  them ;  while  the  other,  comprising  Mr. 
Frederick  Galton,  never  concern  themselves  with  the 
question,  and  do  not  care  three  farthings  whom  it  be- 
longs to. 


262  M  A  R  R  I  E  D      B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

CHAPTER    XXYI. 

RECREANT. 

HOW  very  few  things  come  to  pass,  however  capable 
(as  it  seems)  of  being  foreseen,  exactly  as  we 
poor  mortals  have  anticipated  !  There  are  snch  things  as 
presentiments,  it  is  true,  but  we  hear  nothing  of  the 
strong  convictions  often  entertained  beforehand,  which 
the  ev^ent  proves  to  be  groundless.  A  man  of  an  unhope- 
ful disposition,  who  is  always  speculating  for  the  fall, 
must  occasionally  meet  with  the  misfortune  he  so  ear- 
nestly expects,  but  even  that  not  seldom  comes  upon  him 
in  a  manner  as  unexpected  as  success  itself. 

Thus,  upon  an  afternoon  at  the  end  of  June,  when 
Mr.  Frederick  Galton  made  his  call  at  a  certain  house  in 
Grosvenor  Square,  a]:)prehensive,  as  v^e  have  seen,  of 
meeting  there  with  a  number  of  social  indignities,  things 
did  not  turn  out  precisely  according  to  his  mental  pro- 
gramme? He  experienced  that  hesitation,  which  we 
have  already  mentioned  as  having  taken  possession  of 
his  mind,  as  to  whether  he  should  ring  the  "Visitors"' 
or  the  "  Servants' '^  bell,  up  to  the  instant  that  he  stood 
under  tlie  portico  of  the  mansion,  when  he  discovered,  to 
his  great  relief,  that  there  was  but  one  bell  and  a 
knocker. 

Of  course  he  could  have  gone  to  the  area  gate,  and 
rung  that  bell ;  but  there  was  an  individual  with  a  basket 
under  his  arm,  and  wearing  a  white  apron,  already  there, 
in  whose  company  it  seemed  somehow  that  it  would  be 
incongruous  for  him  to  gain  admittance.  So  lie  rang  the 
visitors'  bell,  and,  as  a  brass-plate  upon  the  door  said 
"Knock  and  Ring,"  he  knocked,  but  with  a  hesitating 
and  indecisive  hand,  as  a  postman  might  have  done  who 
had  been  invited  to  a  fashionable  dinner-party. 

It  was  evident,  from  the  time  that  elapsed  before  the 


R  E  C  R  E  A  X  T .  263 

door  was  opened,  that  this  hesitation  had  not  been  lost 
upon  the  folks  below  stairs.  Mr.  Galton  ^vas  upon  the 
point  of  knocking  again,  and  this  time  rather  savagely 
(for  he  did  not  like  to  be  kept  waiting  any  more  than 
did  Louis  Qnatorze),  when  the  door  was  opened,  but  not 
to  its  full  width,  by  a  canary-suited  footman  with  a  pow- 
dered head.  Upon  catching  sight  of  the  visitor,  how- 
ever, this  gorgeous  but  not  altogether  unintelligent 
creature  threw  the  door  back  with  a  jerk,  and  remained 
in  the  attitude  of  "attention,"  upon  one  side  of  it,  like  a 
jiillar  of  very  florid  architecture.  Frederick  stepped  into 
the  hall,  and  the  door  closed  behind  him.  The  house 
was  a  very  nice  house  in  every  respect,  but  he  had  rather 
it  had  been  much  less  magnificent,  vrith  Mary  Perling 
in  the  dra^ying-room  instead  of  the  housekeeper's  room. 

"  Here  is  my  card,"  said  Frederick,  blushing ;  "  I 
wish  to  see  Miss  Perling." 

"  Miss  who,  sir  ?"  inquired  the  footman,  placing  his 
head  on  one  side  like  an  inquisitive  cockatoo.  '^  I  beg 
your  pardon,  but  I  did  not  catch  the  name." 

"Miss  Perling,"  repeated  Frederick,  between  his 
teeth,  and  looking  nervously  towards  the  staircase,  lest 
any  member  of  the  family  might  be  an  involuntary 
witness  to  his  humiliation. 

"Young  ooman,  a  friend  of  the  housekeeper,  eh?" 
inquired  the  servant,  his  whole  manner  changing  from 
obsequiousness  to  vulgar  familiarity.  "All  right,  young 
man ;  step  down  this  way,  if  you  please." 

Frederick  followed  this  insuiferable  menial,  speechless 
with  rage,  and  was  passing  a  door  on  the  right  hand, 
when  it  opened  suddenly,  and  some  one  cried  :  "  Galton  ! 
What,  it  is  you?  ^Vell,  I  thought  I  could  not  mistake 
that  voice  of  yours.  So  you  have  found  me  out  at  last, 
have  you  ?  I  am  sure  I  am  very  glad.  Let  me  have 
the  pleasure  of  introducing  you  to  my  mother :  Mr. 
Frederick  Galton,  Lady  Ackers.  AVe  have  not  done 
luncheon  yet,  you  see;  pray,  sit  down  and  join  us." 
Thus  spoke  Sir  Geoffrey  Ackers^  a  college  acquaintance 


264  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

of  Frederick's,  who  had  begged  him  (he  now  recollected 
for  the  first  time),  to  "  look  him  up/'  if  ever  he  came  to 
town. 

The  canary-coated  footman  retired  aghast  at  this 
reception  of  the  "  young  man  ; "  a  butler,  more  gentle- 
manlike-looking than  most  members  of  the  House  of 
Peers,  and  whose  deportment  was  equal  to  that  of  a 
bishop  in  full  canonicals,  placed  a  chair  for  him,  and 
handed  some  chicken  salad.  "1  have  heard  a  great  deal 
of  you,  ]\Ir.  Galton,  from  my  son,"  observed  the  hostess, 
graciously  ;  ^^and  I  am  very  pleased  to  see  you.  If  you 
had  but  called  yesterday  instead  of  to-day,  you  would 
have  met  with  old  friends.  Monsieur  de  Lernay  and  his 
daughter  were  with  us." 

"  He  would  certainly  have  come,  if  he  had  known 
that"  observed  Sir  Geoffrey,  roguishly;  '-but  for  my 
part,  I  am  glad  he  did  not.  One  can  never  get  Miss 
Eugenie  to  listen  to  a  word  one  has  to  say,  when  Galton 
is  in  her  company.  He  monopolizes  that  beautiful  crea- 
ture altogetlter." 

"Then  I  am  afraid  it  was  some  hint  of  her  being 
intimate  here,  that  has  procured  us  the  favor  of  Mr. 
Galton's  presence,"  remarked  her  ladyship,  smiling. 
"  ^Monsieur  de  Lernay  was  a  very  old  friend  of  my  poor 
husband,  years  and  years  ago.  Ah  !  I  remember  him, 
one  of  the  handsomest  and  most  agreeable  men  of  the 
French  court.  He  is  sadly  broken,  however,  now :  I 
should  scarcely  have  known  him." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Frederick,  who,  by  a  great  mental 
effort,  had  thrust  from  him  all  reflection  upon  the  conse- 
cjuences  that  might  flow  from  his  present  course  of 
conduct,  and  was  determined  to  play  out  the  scene,  in 
which  he  found  himself  an  involuntary  actor,  as  credit- 
ably as  he  could.  "  Yet  he  seems  to  bear  his  years  un- 
commonly well ;  while  for  wit  and  liveliness  I  have  never 
seen  his  equal." 

"  True,  his  conversation  is  coruscating  as  ever,"  pur- 
sued Lady  Ackers ;  "  but  the  effort  is  perceptible.     You 


RECREANT.  26o 

see  the  wheel  of  the  machine  behind  the  electric 
sparks/' 

'^  Yes ;  I  liave  observed  that/'  said  Sir  Geoffrey, 
"  thougli  only  r|uite  lately ;  indeed,  since  they  came  to 
London.  I  think  he  is  annoyed  about  the  affair  between 
Ids  daughter  and  Meyrick.  They  say  that  is  a  settled 
thing.  How  came  you  to  let  that  come  to  pass,  my 
fascinating  friend,  eh  ?  I  thought  she  was  to  have  been 
Mrs.  Galton." 

'^  Fie,  for  shame,  Geoffrey,"  said  Lady  Ackers,  gravely ; 
^^you  must  not  talk  so  lightly  of  the  disposal  of  a  young 
lady's  hand.  AVhoever  marries  Eugenie  de  Lernay  will 
be  a  fortunate  man,  in  my  opinion.  Her  behavior  to  her 
father  is  devotion  itself;  and  yet,  I  suspect,  he  is  not 
altoo^ether  so  charmino;  at  home  as  he  is  abroad.  It  is 
said  that  our  sex  are  adepts  at  dissimulation,  and  have 
two  faces — one  for  the  ^^'orId,  and  one  for  the  domestic 
hearth ;  but  Janus  was  a  male  after  all." 

"  My  dear  mother,"  said  Sir  Geoffrey,  "  I  had  no  idea 
you  were  so  classical.  It  must  be  the  presence  of  Gal  ton 
which  inspires  you ;  he  is  not  only  a  great  classic — who 
has  never  been  known  to  use  a  crib — but  also  an  author 
on  his  own  account." 

"  Then  I  hope  he  is  not  one  of  those  who  seem  to  do 
their  best  to  bring  our  sex  into  disrepute.  One  would 
think,  to  read  most  modern  books,  that  it  is  women  alone 
who  deceive,  and  truckle,  and  are  dishonest ;  but  that 
men  are  always  strai.jxhtforward,  honorable,  and  incapa- 
ble of  baseness  and  dissimulation." 

"  My  dear  mother,  Galton  will  strangle  himself  in  the 
attempt  not  to  laugh  at  your  enthusiasm.  He  is  already 
scarlet,  and  will  presently  fall  a  victim  to  courtesy  and 
chicken  salad." 

Frederick  Galton's  fiice  was  scarlet  indeed,  but  not 
v,-ith  suppressed  lauo^hter :  Lady  Ackers'  random  shaft 
had  struck  home.  What  a  base,  truckling  hypocrite  was 
he  himself — lie  who  was  so  accustomed  to  regard  the 
weakness  of  others  with  supercilious  disdain.     Why  had 


266  MAKRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

not  he  had  the  moral  courage,  nay,  the  common  candor, 
to  say  at  once,  before  he  had  crossed  that  dining-room 
threshold:  ^^Sir  Geoffrey  Ackers,  I  did  not  call  here  to 
i-enew  my  acquaintance  with  yourself,  for  I  did  not  even 
Ivnow  you  lived  here.  I  remember  -now  that  I  had 
iieard  this  house  belonged  to  a  family  of  your  name,  but 
I  lie  coincidence  never  struck  me.  I  came  to  see  Mary 
Pcrling,  a  respectable  young  woman  of  humble  birth, 
who  is,  I  believe,  the  guest  of  your  housekeeper." 

Would  it  not  be  better  even  to  confess  it  now,  and  ex- 
change the  apartment  of  which  he  was  a  tenant,  under 
ialse  pretences,  for  the  housekeeper's  room  ?  It  would 
undoubtedly  have  been  very  much  better,  but  it  would 
also  have  been  excessively  embarrassing.  Do  not  suppose 
that  Frederick  Gal  ton  did  not  know  what  was  the  proper 
course  to  be  pursued  as  perfectly  well  as  I,  or  you,  my 
most  philosophic  of  readers,  could  tell  him  ;  it  is  my 
opinion  that  he  even  knew  it  better.  In  spite  of  that 
hackneyed  quotation,  yvi^di  aexvtov,  our  fellow-creatures 
are  commonly  quite  as  wide-awake  to  their  own  weak- 
nesses as  they  are  to  their  owm  interests.  Of  course,  it  is 
but  natural  they  should  conceal  the  possession  of  such 
knowledge.  The  peripatetic  proprietors  of  flowers, 
though  compelled  to  advertise  them  as  "all  a-living  and 
a-o^rowino^ ,"  are  nevertheless  at  least  as  coo^nizant  as  the 
very  sharpest  of  their  expected  patrons  of  the  fact  that 
the  said  blossoms  have  only  stalks,  and  that  heath,  and 
tulip,  and  geranium  have  been  but  stuck  in  the  mould  to 
sell  to  the  unwary.  Who  should  be  better  acquainted 
than  themselves  with  the  unhappy  truth  ?  They  may 
palliate  by  arguments  of  their  own  their  dishonesty  in 
offering  such  wares  for  sale ;  but  nobody — no,  not  Lin- 
naeus himself — could  be  so  well  persuaded  as  they  of  their 
rootless  condition. 

Almost  all  scoundrels  are  secretly  convinced  that  they 
are  scoundrels  ;  they  don't  want  anybody — I  mean  in  the 
way  of  information — to  tell  them  that;  only  they  defend 
their  own  conduct  to  themselves  under  plea  of  "  extenu- 


RECEEAXT.  267 

ati/ig  circumstances,"  of  which  the  world  does  Dot  take 
account ;  they  return  a  verdict  of  ''  Guilty,"  as  honestly 
as  any  twelve  men  that  could  be  got  together,  only  they 
recommend  themselves  (very  strongly  indeed)  to  mercy, 
which  a  jury  would  omit  to  do.  Thus,  Mr.  Frederick 
Galtoii  reproach^!  himself  more  bitterly,  I  fancy,  than 
we  shoidd  reproach  hi4n  (despical)le  as  he  well  may  seem 
to  us")  with  his  social  cowardice ;  with  his  falsehood  to  his 
friend,  with  his  unchivalric — nay,  shameful — conduct  to 
his  betrothed  bride.  Was  this,  he  doubtless  asked  him- 
self, what  a  gentleman,  nay,  what  a  man  should  do  ?  Ah, 
recreant  knight,  whose  gilded  spurs  deserve  to  be  hacked 
off  by  the  common  hangman,  shall  not  I,  thy  biographer, 
straightway  wash  my  hands  of  thee,  and  decline  to 
describe  thy  fortunes  further?  Well,  no.  Mr.  Frederick 
Galton  is  not  a  hero ;  I  never  made  any  pretence  of  his 
being  ^uch  a  monstrosity ;  but  he  is  a  young  English 
gentleman,  fettered,  like  his  class,  by^eocial  prejudices, 
but  amiable,  aifectronate,  gentle,  talented,  agreeable,  fit  to 
be  passionately  adored  by  any  lady  in  the  land.  I  will 
stick  by  him,  though,  I  fear,  he  will  be  environed  with 
much  evil  report ;  and  I  shall  hold  to  the  last  to  the 
belief  that  he  is  altogether  a  superior  person,  in  spite  of 
more  weaknesses,  and  faults,  and  crimes  fill  ling  to  his  lot 
than  happily  fall  to  the  lot  of  most  of  us  more  common- 
place persons. 

When  Lady  Ackers  rose  from  the  table,  and  Sir  Geof- 
frey observed  :  "  I  shall  not  let  my  mother  inveigle  you 
into  her  drawing-room,  Galton  ;  you  must  come  out  with 
me  for  a  stroll ;  let  us  smoke  a  cigar  in  the  park,"  then 
surely  was  an  opportunity  offered  for  an  explanation. 
AVhile  the  two  young  men  were  alone  together  in  the  so- 
called  "study  "  at  the  back  of  the  house,  selecting  choice 
specimens  of  the  fragrant  weed,  from  an  enormous  stock 
laid  out  in  drawers,  like  some  scientific  collection,  what 
could  have  been  easier  for  Frederick  Galton  than  to  have 
made  his  little  confession,  hitherto  unavoidably  postponed 
(as  he  might  have  remarked)  by  reason  of  the  presence 


268  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

of  Lady  Ackers  ?  Above  all,  when  they  were  smoking, 
that  period  especially  suitable  for  friendly  confidences, 
and  even  for  saying  things  that  cannot  be  very  conven- 
iently said  at  other  times — when  they  were  lounging  on 
that  bench  in  the  park  with  their  cigars,  I  say,  Mr.  Fred- 
erick might  surely  have  made  a  clean  breast  of  it ;  and 
perhaps  he  would  have  done  so,  but  for  a  circumstance 
which  had  previously  occurred.  Just  as  they  left  the 
house.  Sir  Geoffrey,  staring  straight  before  him,  in  the 
most  unconcerned  manner  in  the  world,  had  made  the 
following  observation  to  his  companion  :  '^  If  you  look 
to  the  left  through  our  area  railings,  you  will  see  at  the 
last  window  next  the  steps  the  most  beautiful  face  that 
you  ever  beheld  in  your  life,  my  impressionable  young 
friend,  not  even  excepting  that  of  Mademoiselle  Eugenie 
de  Lernay.  Don't  misbehave  yourself,  i)ray,  by  express- 
ing your  admiration.  She's  a  most  respectable  girl,  I 
understand,  a  niece  or  other  relative  of  our  housekeeper. 
But  is  she  not  lovely?  I  protest  it  makes  one  quite 
regret  that  one  is  not  in  a  position  of  life  to  oifer  her  one's 
hand  and  heart.  I  suppose  the  butler  will  marry  her 
eventually — although  he's  old  enough  to  be  her  father — 
and  then  they  will  keep  a  j)ublic-hoLise  together.  Then 
he  will  die,  and  leave  her  a  buxom  widow,  with  the  good- 
will of  the  business,  and  slie  will  marry  her  first  love — 
some  dissipated  commercial  traveller,  perhaps — who  will 
take  to  drink,  and  beat  her.  Life  has  no  romance  for 
those  sort  of  people.     You  saw  her,  did  you  not?^' 

Yes,  he  had  seen  lier.  She  was  sitting  close  to  the 
window,  to  get  as  much  light  as  possible  for  some  needle- 
work she  was  engaged  upon.  The  summer  sun  had 
never  streamed  down  upon  a  face  more  fair — a  happy, 
contented,  trusting,  faithful  face,  whose  downcast  eyes, 
unconscious  of  his  presence,  shot  shame  into  the  young 
man's  soul.  He  despised,  he  loathed  himself  in  that  he 
had  played  so  mean  a  part  even  for  a  single  hour.  But 
it  was  too  late  now. 

"  You  saw  her,  did  you  not  ?  "  repeated  Sir  Geofirey, 


THE     B  O  H  E  M  I  A  X  S  .  269 

"  O  yes,"  replied  Mr.  Frederick  Gallon,  carelesslv ; 
•'decidedly  pretty,  but  (it  was  odd  how  vulgar  he  grew  in 
his  hypocrisy)  not  quite  my  stijIeJ^ 

As  he  had  started  upon  so  false  a  track,  and  sailed  so 
far,  he  thought  that  it  was  best  to  persevere.  What  did 
it  matter  that  these  mere  acquaintances,  this  Sir  Geoffrev 
and  his  mother,  were  not  let  into  his  secret  ?  They  would 
know  all  in  time,  like  other  folks.  It  was  once  observed 
to  me  by  a  great  judge  of  human  nature,  that  when  a 
man,  no  matter  how  sagacious,  has  made  up  his  mind  to 
commit  a  crime,  from  that  moment  his  sagacity  deserts 
him ;  he  omits  the  most  obvious  precautions  to  secure 
his  safety;  he  overlooks  the  most  plain  and  damning 
evidences  against  him  ;  and  thus  Mr.  Frederick  Galton^ 
when  he  had  suddenly  decided  at  the  threshold  of  that 
dining-room  to  tacitly  ignore  his  betrothed  bride,  had 
forgotten  that  the  instant  before,  when  he  gave  his  card 
to  the  canary-coated  footman,  he  had  stated  and  repeated: 
"  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Perlius:.''' 


CHAPTER^  XXVII. 

THE    BOHEMIA XS. 

WHO  has  not  experienced,  after  a  change  however 
short  in  his  mode  of  life,  the  gradual  erasure 
and  fading  away  of  his  former  state  of  existence,  until 
the  j^resent  seems  the  only  genuine  and  real  one?  The 
young  undergraduate,  after  a  year  or  two  of  college  life, 
recalls  with  difficulty  his  school-boy  days,  although  they 
lasted  for  a  decade ;  the  Benedict  of  a  few  months  can 
scarcely  imagine  that  he  was  ever  a  bachelor;  and  the 
widower,  alas  I  in  a  very  little  time  gets  accustomed  to 
his  lonely  home,  or  fills  the  vacant  place  with  another 


270  31  A  R  Fv  I  E  D      BENEATH      HI  31 . 

bride.  Time  does  not  make  blank  the  pages  of  the  past, 
but  writes,  as  on  a  Palimpsest,  upon  their  fading  records 
the  story  of  the  present. 

After  a  few  short  months,  it  seemed  to  Frederick  Gal- 
ton  that  London  had  been  his  home  for  years ;  nor  could 
he  possibly  have  reproduced  in  writing  the  first  impres- 
sions which  the  place  and  people  had  made  upon  his  mind, 
although  literature  had  become  already  his  ordinary  pro- 
fession, with  little  that  was  strange  or  captivating  about 
it.  His  ambitions,  if  narrowed,  had  become  more  defi- 
nite; his  hopes,  if  they  had  lost  some  of  their  splendor^ 

were  in  some  slio^ht  deo-ree  realized  ;  his  fears  no  longer 

.  .     . 

existed.  Of  his  future  success  as  a  writer  for  the  periodi- 
cals, there  was  no  doubt.  He  was  successful — in  a  very 
small  way,  of  course — even  as  it  was ;  he  ,was  probably 
the  youngest  in  all  the  army  of  metropolitan  Ufftrateurs — 
but  promotion  does  not  go  in  tlnit  service  by  seniority, 
and  only  very  seldom  by  purchase.  He  h.ad  brought 
out  his  first  book,  and  it  had  been  received  as  few  pro- 
ductions of  authors  in  their  minority  have  been  welcomed. 
I  will  not  say  how  far  this  connection  with  the  Porcupine 
had  assisted  him  in  this.  There  are  jealousies  and  enmi- 
ties enough  among  the  gentlemen  of  the  press,  but  they 
all  pull  together  in  a  most  laudable  manner  upon  two 
occasions  :  first,  in  depreciating  any  "  outsider ; "  secondly, 
in  belauding  one  another  to  the  public. 

Of  course,  Frederick's  book  was  a  volume  of  poetry. 
Almost  all  authors,  whether  they  subsequently  make  any 
mark  in  the  vrorld  as  prose- writers  or  poets,  make  their 
first  venture  in  rhyme.  It  is  said  that  for  a  young  driver 
a  pair  of  even-stepping  horses  are  really  easier  to  manage 
than  one,  and  perhaps  this  holds  good  in  literature ;  but, 
at  all  events,  the  fact  is  as  I  have  said.  Were  it  not 
ungenerous,  and  almost  a  breach  of  confidence,  to  let  the 
general  public  into  such  secrets,  I  could  mention  half-a- 
dozen  prosperous  prose  writers  who  have  started  with 
steeds  in  double  harness-rhyme,  upset  the  (borrowed) 
chariot  of  Apollo,  and  then  wisely  given  the  thing  up, 


THE     BOHEMIANS.  271 

and  taken  to  a  gig.  The  majority  of  popular  novelists 
have  iu  early  life  written  plays  which  have  been  damned; 
but  a  still  greater  portion  have  made  their  literary  debut 
with  a  volume  of  verses.  After  the  age  of  four-and- 
twenty,  they  never  breathe  a  syllable  about  this  creation 
of  their  genius,  of  which  six  years  before,  they  were  so 
extravagantly  proud;  and  after  thirty,  they  resolutely 
denv  even  that  they  ever  committed  such  an  imprudence. 
Lucky  for  them  if  some  kind  friend  has  not  preserved  a 
coj)y  out  of  which  to  read  high-flown  sentiments  at  inop- 
portune occasions  to  the  confusion  of  their  author. 

So  Mr.  Frederick  Gralton  published  his  verse-book 
bound  in  appropriate  green,  but  containing  neither  the 
morbid  poem  (for  he  had  advisers  about  himj  nor  the 
lines  to  M.  P.,  which  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  had  errone- 
ously supposed  to  be  of  a  political  character.  It  was 
really  a  very  creditable  little  book  indeed,  although  it  did 
not  take  the  town  by  storm  at  once — or  even  afterwards. 
Most  of  the  reviews  spoke  highly  of  it,  and  every  word 
of  praise  they  said  was  believed  by  this  (in  general)  very 
sagacious  young  gentleman ;  some  of  them,  indeed,  treated 
it  with  contempt,  but  there  was  a  good  and  sufficient  reason 
for  that  too  (he  was  well  convinced)  in  private  malevo- 
lence. Yet  the  callow  poet  writhed  under  every  adverse 
criticism,  and  again  and  again  lost  his  appetite  for  the 
dav  after  perusing  them.  His  friends,  even  his  real  ones, 
took  care  that  not  a  single  one  should  escape  his  notice ; 
and  more  than  once  they  themselves  gave  him  their 
candid  opinion  upon  the  perfornjance,  which  he  gladly 
would  have  dispensed  with.  ^^  What  did  he  want  of 
their  confounded  opinion?'*'  (This  was  the  way  he  ex- 
pressed it  to  himself.)  ^*  If  they  liked  the  thing,  well 
and  good,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  them  say  so.  But 
who  had  asked  them  to  find  fault,  he  would  like  to 
know?  Did  they  suppose  he  was  not  at  least  as  alive  to 
his  own  shortcomings  as  they  could  possibly  be?  Had 
he  or  they  given  the  more  attentive  consideration  to  the 
subject?  '  Finally,  did  they  really  intend  to  do  him  good 


272  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

bv  such  detraction,  or  raerelv  to  make  themselves  un- 
pleasant?    Ah!'' 

The  state  of  self-delusion  ^vhicll  held  that  gentleman, 
who,  having  obtained  the  senior  v>ranglershi2)  at  Cam- 
bridge, de(.'ided  not  to  come  up  to  London  until  the 
excitement  consequent  upon  liis  success  l^ad  subsided  in 
the  public  mind,  is  unassuming  modesty  compared  with 
the  feelings  of  a  youth  who  has  just  published  his  first 
book  of  poems. 

Mr.  Frederick  Galtou  did  not  forget  his  personal 
friends  in  the  distribution  of  his  lyrics.  Old  Mrs.  Per- 
ling,  down  at  Oldborough,  got  a  copy,  which  her  daugh- 
ter Jane  read  out  to  her  aloud,  auvd  many  delightful  little 
evening  naps  were  therel^y  afforded  her.  Mrs.  Hartopp 
also  received  the  precious  volume,  and  after  one  very 
praiseworthy  attempt  to  understand  it,  placed  it  rever- 
ently upon  her  little  bookcase  between  the  "  Whole  duty 
of  Man''  and  Mrs.  Glass's  receipt  book.  Everybody  who 
had  ever  interested  themselves  in  the  young  author,  in 
fact,  received  this  little  acknowledgment  at  his  hands, 
so  that  the  public  were  not  in  reality  so  much  to  be  com- 
mended, as  it  seemed,  for  calling  for  a  second  edition. 
Still,  they  did  call  for  it.  This  widened  the  gulf  between 
the  undergraduate  of  Minim  Hall,  and  Frederick's  pres- 
ent self  beyond  all  bridging.  It  was  impossible,  he  had 
written  to  his  father,  that  he  coidd  now  return  to  the 
university  to  pursue  studies  that  were  uncongenial,  and  to 
submit  to  regulations  that  were  irksome.  He  amiounced 
this  determination  with  such  gentleness  and  dutifid  affec- 
tion as  had  moved  the  good  doctor  greatly.  Absence  from 
his  boy  had  only  made  the  father's  heart  grow  fonder;  and 
when,  in  the  first  page  of  his  son's  first  book,  he  perceived 
that  it  was  dedicated  to  himself,  he  could  hardly  read  the 
graceful  and  aflPectionate  words  for  tears.  He  scarcely 
made  any  opposition  to  the  young  man's  taking  his  own 
way  in  life  now,  since  he  found  it  so  much  to  his  mind ; 
for,  indeed,  this  period  of  Frederick's  career  was  no  less 
happy  than  promising.     He  was  a  great  favorite  with 


THE     BOHEMIANS.  273 

nineteen-twentieths  of  his  associates,  and  lie  rather  en- 
joyed the  hatred  of  the  remainder  than  otlierwise.  Per- 
cival  Potts  and  his  following  were,  of  course,  among  his 
enemies,  and  the  war  waged  between  him  and  them  was 
unceasing ;  but  he  was  not  afraid  of  the  great  litterateur 
in  the  least,  and  his  satellites  hd  thoroughly  despised. 
Just  at  present,  however,  they  had  him  at  a  disadvan- 
tage, on  account  of  his  lyrics,  which  they  misquoted 
unmercifully. 

There  was  a  certain  literary  club,  whereof  most  of  the 
contributors  to  the  Porcupine  were  members,  and  which 
Frederick  had  joined  upon  his  first  arrival  in  tow^n.  It 
met  at  a  tavern,  where  matters  were  conducted  in  a  very 
unpretending  way;  but  it  would  have  been  an  agreeable 
society  enough,  had  it  not  been  for  Potts.  By  him  the 
place  was  turned  into  a  sort  of  lecture-room,  for  the 
piece-meal  delivery  of  his  autobiography.  Mr.  Jonathan 
Johnson,  indeed,  now  and  then  rebelled  against  the  op- 
pression exercised  by  this  egotistic  creature,  but  only 
too  often  let  him  rant  and  rave  as  he  would.  When  he 
spoke — and  he  was  always  speaking — no  other  dog  dared 
bark,  or  even  utter  a  whine  of  remonstrance.  Many  suf- 
fered in  silence,  drawing  what  philosophy  they  could 
through  their  pipe-tubes,  for  the  despotism  under  which 
they  groaned  was  mitigated  by  tobacco;  others  were  niere 
hangers  on  of  Potts,  and  liked,  or  pretended  to  like  to 
hear  him.  The  former  class  welcomed  Mr.  Frederick 
Galton  with  secret  joy ;  they  shared  his  aspirations  for 
freedom ;  and  connived  at  his  revolutionary  designs, 
although  they  lacked  the  courage  to  give  him  any  open 
support.  He  had  gone  to  this  ^vould-be  convivial  society 
late  one  winter  evening,  after  some  dinner-party;  his 
father's  friends  were  numerous,  and  hospitable  to  him, 
and  he  was  welcomed  at  the  family  tables  of  many  of 
his  college  acquaintances;  at  all  events,  he  had  been 
somewhere  where  evening  costume  was  de  rigueur.  Xow, 
the  Bohemians,  the  Free  Lances  of  Literature,  of  whom 
the  admirers  of  Mr.  Percival  Potts  chiefly  consisted, 
17 


274  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

despise  above  all  things  a  dress-coat,  as  being  the  very 
bado^e  and  uniform  of  the  slaves  of  convention  and 
respectability. 

"  AVe  cannot/'  cried  one — "  we  realiy  can  not  permit 
a  man  with  a  white  tie  and  garnet  buttons  to  liis  waist- 
coat—" 

"And  shirt  studs  of  brilliants/'^  added  a  second. 

"And  sleeve-buttons  of  gold/'  continued  a  third. 

"  How  they  appraise  me  !  "  cried  Frederick — "  how 
they  gloat  with  their  liungry  eyes !  they  are  thinking  to 
themselves  how  they  would  be  off  at  once  to  the  pawn- 
broker's, if  thev  possessed  but  a  tenth  of  these  valu- 
ables." 

"  Leave  the  young  gentleman  alone ! "  cried  Potts, 
with  a  sneer;  "he  moves  in  very  high  society,  Juvenum 
nobilium  cliens;  he  is  the  constant  companion  of  young 
swells.  Let  us  be  thankful  that  he  comes  among  us 
humble  folk  at  all." 

"  My  good  Potts,"  returned  Frederick,  "  you  are  very 
kind  to  say  so ;  I  trust  that  I  have  been  always  affable 
to  my  inferiors.  Waiter,  fetch  me  some  gin  that  has 
been  in  your  master's  cellar  since  the  consulship  of 
Manlius,  or  that  remembers  the  Marsian  war." 

'^Yes,  sir — certainly,  sir/'  answered  that  function- 
arv,  and  a  roar  of  laughter  followed  his  mechanical 
reply. 

But  Mr.  Percival  Potts  Avas  not  one  of  the  laughers ; 
he  knew,  as  everybody  else  did,  save  the  waiter,  at  whom 
these  classical  allusions  were  aimed.  - 

Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson,  foreseeing  horrid  war,  endeav- 
ored to  monopolize  the  attention  of  the  younger  com- 
batant. "My  young  friend,"  said  he,  "come  and  sit  by 
me.  I  have  a  very  serious  matter  to  talk  to  you  about," 
whispered  he,  in  a  lower  tone.  "  I  heard  to-day,  for  the 
first  time,  from  the  good  lady  in  Bolton  Kow,  that  you 
had  left  her  lodgings,  without  rhyme  or  reason,  these 
three  months,  and  departed  she  knows  not  Avhither. 
Xow,  I  have  nothino;  to  do  with  vour  manner  of  life 


THE     B  O  H  E  ^I  I  A  X  S  .  ZiO 

myself,  but  I  candidly  tell  you  that  I  must  communicate 
this  fact  to  your  uncle." 

"  He  is  quite  aware  of  my  present  address,"  observed 
Mr.  Galtou,  innocently.  "I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  some 
day.  At  present,  let  us  drink.  Ccefera  raitte  loqid,  if  I 
am  not  trespassing  npon  the  private  preserves  of  our 
learned  friend  yonder." 

"A  more  inane  production^  even  for  a  boy,  I  never  set 
eyes  on,"  remarked  Percival  Potts,  addressing  himself  to 
a  neighbor,  but  in  tones  that  were  quite  audible  through. 
the  room. 

There  was  some  murmured  reply. 

"  Praised  !  "  continued  the  sub-editor,  disdainfully, 
"  you  should  rather  say  puffed  !  There  are  some  critics 
who  will  write  anything  for  a  good  dinner,  and  the 
young  man  is  very  open-handed." 

Here  occurred  an  outbreak  of  that  description  of 
mirth  which  is  called  "a  sniggle." 

'^  Queen  Stratonica,  wife  of  Seleucus,  had  not  one  hair 
upon  her  head ;  yet  she  gave  six  hundred  crowns  to  a 
poet  who  praised  her  tresses,  which  he  sang  had  tlie 
genuine  hue  of  the  marigold." 

"  Good,  good  !  "  "  Hear,  hear  !  "  ejaculated  the  satel- 
lites.   • 

"  What  a  damned  trick  of  it — tit — tit — tit — iteration 
the  fellow  has,"  observed  Jonathan  Johnson. 

"  Nothing  is  easier  than  to  apply  stale  quotations,  if 
you  only  carry  about  with  you  a  sufficient  quantity  of 
that  sort  of  rubbish,"  remarked  Frederick,  contempt- 
uously; "keep  a  thing  long  enough,  and  a  use  for  it  is 
sure  to  arise." 

"I  am  afraid,  sir,"  remarked  a  Pottsite,  "that  it 
would  be  a  long  time  before  vou  or  I  attained  such  apti- 
tude—" 

"Speak  for  yourself,  my  friend,"  interrupted  Fred- 
erick, rudely,  for  Potts  could  be  borne,  but  not  his 
parasites.  "I  will  tell  you  a  classical  story  that  exactly 
fits  the  present  case." 


276  MARRIED      B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

Here  the  waiter  entered  tlie  room,  and  whispered: 
^'  Mr.  Galton,  you  are  wanted ;  there  is  somebody  below 
that  wishes  to  speak  with  you.'' 

"Beg  him  to  wait  a  moment,  if  you  please/'  returned 
Frederick,  civilly  (for  he  never  in^  his  life  omitted  to  be 
courteous  to  an  inferior) ;  then,  looking  straight  towards 
the  head  of  the  table,  where  sat  the  great  Potts  enthroned 
among  his  admiring  friends,  he  delivered  himself  as 
follows :  "  There  was  a  man  in  Libya,  called  Psaphon, 
to  w^hom  nature  had  been  sufficiently  indulgent,  but  v/ho 
yet  imagined  himself  to  be  a  much  more  wonderful 
person  than  he  really  was.  In  order  to  get  others  to 
agree  with  him,  he  captured  as  many  birds  as  he  could, 
as  were  just  capahh  of  imitating  human  sjyeech,  and 
taught  them  to  pronounce  these  words  distinctly  :  '  Psa- 
phoii  is  a  great  god.'  This  done,  he  set  them  all  at 
liberty,  who  filled  the  woods  and  fields  w^ith  this  ludi- 
crously mendacious  statement;  so  that  many  foolish 
persons  hearing  that  cuckoo-note,  began  to  think  that 
there  was  something  in  it.     Xow,  I  need  not  say — " 

Almost  every  man  rose  to  his  feet,  for,  although 
etiquette  did  not  much  trammel  the  proceedings  of  that 
society,  an  attack  at  once  so  bitter,  so  personal,  and  so 
well  deserved,  had  rarely  been  made ;  the  voice  of  Potts 
broke  forth  in  wrath,  that  of  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  in 
mitigation,  and  a  score  of  faces  turned  toNvards  Frederick 
Galton  in  indignation  or  ap])roval ;  but  the  young  man 
saw  only  one  face,  that  of  Jacob  Lunes,  the  Casterton 
carrier,  and  he  heard  but  one  voice,  speaking  in  the 
dialect  of  Downshire,  but  with  a  pathos  that  is  common 
to  everv  human  tongue,  when  it  tells  of  death  and  love 
together :  "  Coom  home,  Mayster  Frederick ;  I  have 
come  up  hot-foot  to  fetch  ycr.  Coom  home,  for  GodV 
sake,  and  if  thou  wouldst  see  thy  fayther  once  again 
before  he  dies," 


EVIL     TIDI^'GS.  277 

CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

EVIL    TIDINGS. 

THE  few  words  spoken  by  the  simple  carrier  into 
Frederick  Galton's  ear  transformed  him  as  com- 
plete! v  into  another  being  as  magic  wand  was  ever  fabled 
to  do.  His  outward  form,  indeed,  remained  unchanged, 
save  that  his  cheek,  flushed  with  wine  and  quarrel, 
turned  to  a  deadly  paleness,  but  his  heart  seemed  to  col- 
lapse within  him,  leaving  an  aching  void,  and  a  flood  of 
vague,  remorseful  memories  rushed  to  his  brain,  and 
drowned  all  present  thought.  He  found  himself  in  the 
street,  and  in  a  cab  with  the  messenger,  with  the  horse 
going  as  fast  as  it  could  lay  legs  to  ground,  before  he 
was  well  aware  that  he  had  left  the  club-room,  with  its 
excited  faces  and  eager  tones.  Then  he  cried  :  "  Stop  I 
I  must  call  somewhere :  I  cannot  leave  town  without — '' 

"Xay,  Master  Frederick,  but  we  shall  miss  the  mail,"' 
interrupted  the  carrier,  appealingly.  "  Your  father  is 
veri/  ill." 

"I  know  that,  man,^'  returned  the  other,  fiercely. 
"  He  is  dying — I  read  that  in  your  eyes ;  but  for  one 
instant — for  one  single  instant — ^'  He  put  his  head  out 
of  the  window  hastily,  so  that  his  spring-hat  fell  out, 
and  was  crushed  under  the  wheels,  and  cried  out  to  the 
driver  :  "  Lower  Seymour  Street.  It  is  on  your  way — 
quick,  quick  I  "  Then  he  drew  in  his  pale  face,  speckled 
with  dirty  snow — for  there  had  been  a  heavy  fall  lor 
days,  and  it  was  now  thawing  fast — and  sat  with  his 
fingers  upon  the  outside  handle  of  the  door,  ready  to 
leap  forth  without  delay.  As  the  cab  slackened  pace 
before  the  house  he  did  so,  and  opened  the  front  door, 
and  was  in  the  passage  in  a  moment,  yet  not  so  soon  but 
that  a  flood  of  light  poured  into  it  from  the  ground-floor 
sitting-room,  and  a  female  form  came  out  to  meet  him. 


278  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

and  cast  ber  arms  about  bis  neck.  He  was  back  again 
in  tbe  cab,  after  one  hurried  sentence,  and  the  wheels 
were  in  motion,  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  write  it; 
while  the  woman  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  her  look 
of  welcome  changed  to  one  of  wondering  sorrow,  as  slie 
gazed  after  the  retreating  vehicle. 

The  face  of  Jacob  Lunes,  too,  was  altered  for  the  worse. 
"  I  am  sorry  you  stopped,  ^Master  Frederick,"  said  he, 
gravely,  "since — jou  must  forgive  me  for  saying  so — 
it—"  "  The  bluff  carrier  was  about  to  say  something 
severe  upon  the  conduct  of  the  lad,  whom  he  had  known 
from  the  cradle,  and  seen,  and  ])robably  spoken  with, 
every  other  day  of  his  life;  but  the  anguish  depicted  in 
tbe  young  raan^s  features  stayed  his  speech.  "  The  Lord 
have  mercy  upon  us  all.  Master  Frederick,  young  and  old ! " 
said  he  instead ;  "  though  there  are  some  as  seem  to  be  as 
good  as  angels  already.  I  am  sure  your  father  is  as  sweet- 
souled  as  any  fellovr-creature  breathing  ;  if  good  wishes 
can  carry  a  man  up  to  Heaven,  the  prayers  of  all  poor 
folks  nigh  Castleton,  sir — Pray,  pray  don't  take  on  so, 
Master  Frederick  I  while  there's  life  there's  hope,  you 
know." 

"  Go  on,  Jacob,  go  on,"  sobbed  the  young  man  ;  "  it 
does  one  good  to  hear  you.  I  can  listen  to  you  now,  as 
I  could  not  do  a  while  ago.  Here  is  the  station,  and  we 
are  in  time,  thank  Heaven !  Yvlien  we  get  in  the  train, 
tell  me  all  that  has  happened,  and  do  not  mind  if  I  don't 
speak,  Jacob — I  shall  hear." 

So  Frederick  Galton  sat  in  one  corner  of  the  railway 
carriage,  where  the  light  from  the  pale  oil-lamp  scarcely 
fell  on  him  at  all,  and  listened  in  silence. 

"  It  was  the  night  afore  last.  Master  Frederick,  and 
snowing  hard,  as  it  had  been  doin' for  a  week  before, 
when  the  doctor  was  sent  for  to  Xancy  Eeeves,  a  laborer's 
wife,  away  beyond  Bilbury  Clumps :  I  should  say  five 
miles  or  more.  It  ought  to  have  been  a  parish  case,  but 
your  father  was  alius  for  sparing  that  young  Union  Saw- 
bones.    '  And,  besides,'  says  he,  '  I  can  get  there  in  my 


EVIL     TIDINGS.  279 

gig  in  half  the  time,  and  it's  ten  to  one  he  loses  himself 
in  the  snow,  being  strange  to  the  Downs.'  Then  the 
poor  woman,  too — her  husband  was  away,  you  see,  and 
this  her  eleventh  child — was  in  that  sort  of  condition 
towards  which  I  think  your  good  father  was  more  \mr- 
ticularly  tender.  You  see.  Master  Frederick,  he  lost 
your  mother  in  childbirth  ;  and  all  husbands — this  is 
what  my  old  woman  says,  at  least,  and  she  knows  a  vast 
— has  a  sort  of  claim  upon  him,  as  he  thinks,  so  as  they 
should  not  be  left,  if /ze  can  help  it  any  way,  all  desolate- 
like,  and  forsaken,  as  he  himself  was,  until,  leastways, 
you  growed  up — " 

"And  afterwards,'^  groaned  Frederick,  bitterly,  "I 
forsook  him,  Jacob,  I — " 

"  Xay,  nay ;  don't  take  on  so,  sir ;  young  men  will  be 
young  men.  You  couldn't  be  expected  to  be  mewed  up 
— he  said  so  himself,  he  did  indeed — in  a  little  country 
village,  being  such  a  clever  young  gentleman ;  and  he 
tried  to  reconcile  himself  all  he  could  when  he  was  left 
lonesome-like,  and  worked — the  good  gentleman  did, 
even  harder  than  ever.  God  knows,  it  was  not  to  get 
gain  neither;  A/s  visits  cost  him  something,  instead  of 
winning  him  reward,  they  did,  for  his  hand  was  open  to 
the  poor.  You  are  all  that,  that  I  will  say;  you  and 
your  uncle,  and  your  father — none  of  you  knows  how  to 
say  ^  Xo '  when  another  says  ^  Give.'  Lord  !  how  we 
have  got  took  in,  again  and  again ;  but  then  it  ain't  lost 
— that's  what  my  old  woman  says — it's  all  kep'  an  account 
of;  and  I  wish  such  a  ledger,  or  anything  like  it,  was 
awaiting  me,  as  the  angel  book-keepers  have  got  to  show 
in  favor  of  your  father.  God  bless  him  I  God  bless  him  !  " 
The  good  carrier  broke  down  for  a  little  while,  for  he 
could  stand  wind  and  weather  better  than  the  telling 
of  bad  news.  "  I  ax  your  pardon.  Master  Frederick ; 
but  he  was  a  good  friend  to  me  and  mine,  was  your 
father,  years  before  you  vras  borned  into  this  world ; 
and  at  my  time  of  life,  why,  we  don't  make  new 
friends." 


280  MARRIED     BENEATH      HTM. 

"  No,  nor  forget  old  ones^  Jacob.  Go  on  ;  I  deserve 
anything.'^ 

'MVhv,  Master  Frederick,  I  meant  nothing  against 
you !  don't  think  it  for  a  moment.  Of  course,  a  young 
gentleman  like  you  must  make  new  friends,  both  men 
and  women;  though,  as  to  women,  I  honestly  tell  you  it 
give  me  a  turn  just  now  to  see  tl\e  face  I  did  at  the  door  we 
stopped  at.  Nothing  comes  of  that  sort  of  thing  in  the 
end  but  sorrow,  if  not  worse:  Mn  the  hour  of  death,  and 
in  the  Day  of  Judgment ' — then  it's  a  sad  business.  I 
ain't  given  to  cantin'  in  a  general  way ;  but  coming,  as  it 
might  be,  from  your  poor  father's  deathbed,  why,  it  makes 
one  serious-minded.  And  I  am  sorry — though  it  were 
no  fault  o'  mine — that  it  was  my  cart  as  she  first  came  in 
to  Caster  ton." 

''  Jacob  I^unes,"  returned  the  young  man,  quietly,  "  I 
know  all  you  w^ould  say  about  that  matter,  and  I  am  not 
angry.  I  have  justly  earned  your  ill  opinion.  But  please 
to  tell  me  now  about  my  father." 

"Well,  sir,  he  called  up  John,  and  bid  him  put  the 
young  mare  in  the  buggy,  although  she  was  rather  skit- 
tish for  night-work,  but  they  had  all  l)een  out  that  day 
save  her,  and  the  doctor  was  always  mindful  of  dumb 
beasts,  and  would  never  use  a  tired  horse  if  he  could  help 
it.  He  would  not  iet  Joe  drive  the  buggy  either,  but 
started  with  the  little  boy  v/ho  had  come  with  the  mes- 
sage. What  a  blessed  thing,  Master  Frederick,  must  it 
be  to  lose  one's  life  in  thinking  for  others ! " 

"  I  shall  never  die  that  way,  Jacob,"  murmured  the 
young  man,  sorrowfully.     "Go  on,  go  on." 

"Well,  sir,  he  did  not  come  back  that  night,  nor  yet 
in  the  morning.  At  first,  we  thought  it  was  only  that 
Nancy  was  not  getting  over  her  trouble  so  easily  as  usual, 
and  that  your  father  had  stayed  at  the  cottage  all  night. 
But  when  in  the  afternoon  the  same  messenger  arrived  at 
Casterton  for  some  medicine  the  doctor  had  ordered, 
^  when  he  left  before  daybreak,'  we  knew  that  something 
dreadful  must  have  happened  to  him.     Then  you  might 


EVIL     TIDINGS.  281 

have  seen  how  clearly  we  all  loved  your  poor  father,  Mas- 
ter Frederick.  Your  uncle,  and  the  Squire,  and  Farmer 
Groves,  and  all  as  had  horses,  started  oif  in  a  great  com- 
pany over  the  Downs  towards  Bilbury  ;  for  it  was  plain 
that  he  had  tried  to  come  back  that  way,  since,  if  he  had 
kept  the  main  road,  the  lad  must  have  seen  him.  After 
them  came  well  nigh  all  in  Casterton.  The  blacksmith 
left  his  anvil,  and  the  cobbler  his  stall,  for  work  was  not 
to  be  thought  of  while  the  doctor  was  missing ;  nay,  even 
the  postman,  after  his  wear\'  day's  walk,  started  off  that 
afternoon  across  the  snowy  hills,  as  though  he  had  never 
set  foot  to  ground.  It  was  necessary  to  go  over  the  whole 
track  before  darkness  set  in  a  second  time  and  fell  upon 
him  somewhere,  lost  upon  the  desolate  white  Downs — 
for  that  he  had  come  to  any  harm  from  the  hand  of  man 
was  out  of  the  question ;  not  a  rogue  in  the  county  was 
so  great  a  rascal  as  to  have  done  the  doctor  a  bad  turn ; 
and  as  for  enemies,  he  had  none  but  Disease  and  Dirt,  as 
ever  I  heard  him  speak  of.  He  was  always  for  white- 
washing and  window-opening,  and  such  like,  to  an 
uncommon  degree  surely,  which  only  shows  that  even  the 
best  of  us  has  his  weaknesses. 

*'  Well,  when  we  had  got  about  three  miles  out,  I  was 
riding  my  old  Dobbin,  next  man  to  the  parson,  but  not 
very  close,  for  we  was  a-spreading  out  pretty  wide,  near 
a  quarter  of  a  mile,  as  I  should  say,  I  see  a  dark  speck 
on  the  snow,  and  it  were  moving  slowly.  This  was  the 
poor  doctors  bay  mare,  a'most  dead  beat,  hobbling  along 
through  the  deep  snow  with  two  broken  traces  and  a  bit 
of  the  gig-shaft  dragging  at  her  heels.  Then  we  knew 
that  what  we  was  in  search  of  was  not  far  off.  It  was 
easy  enough  to  track  the  wanderings  of  the  poor  creature ; 
and  presently,  all  of  a  sudden — for  he  was  hidden  by  a 
great  bank  of  snow — we  come,  Master  Frederick,  upon 
vour  poor  father.  He  was  a-lying  on  his  back,  with  the 
gio;  turned  over  beside  him,  and  there  he  had  lain  for 
hours  and  hours,  for  he  couldn't  move — no,  not  so  much 
as  turn  his  head.    His  poor  back  were  broke,  as  I  believe ; 


282  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

and  he  must  have  suffered  terrible.  God  only  knows 
why.  Why  should  I^  a  drunkard,  sir,  occasionally,  and 
w^ho  minds  my  own  concerns,  and  don't  trouble  about  the 
misfortunes  of  others,  have  been  sleeping  in  my  bed,  sound 
and  hearty,  all  that  night,  and  that  good  man  have  lain 
on  the  snow-covered  ridgeway,  with  his  face  to  the  cold. 
sky?  Yet,  if  you'll  believe  it,  he  gave  a  smile  as  we 
came  up,  and  murmured  something  about  how  good  it 
were  of  us  to  come  to  seek  him ;  yet  how  that  he  had 
expected  nothing  less  from  us.  Squire  Meyrick  w^as 
kneeling  over  him,  and  weeping  like  a  child  ;  and  Mr. 
Morrit,  I  never  see  a  man  so  moved  in  all  my  life — and 
yet  such  a  head  left  to  him.  ^  We  have  not  brought  a 
doctor  wdth  us,  William,'  said  he,  ^although  Watchem 
has  been  sent  for ;  but  we  have  an  easy  litter  and  bearers  ; 
only  you  must  tell  us  how  we  can  lift  you,  so  as  to  cause 
you  the  least  pain.' 

^^  Then  a  shudder  seemed  to  fall  upon  your  poor  father's 
face,  for  he  well  knew  what  agony  v/as  awaiting  him  ;  the 
pain  he  was  then  suffering  was  dulled  and  blunted,  I 
suppose,  to  what  it  was  when  he  came  to  be  moved,  for 
he  fainted  right  away,  before  the  men  got  him  upon  their 
shoulders.  And  so  Ave  brouglit  him  home  insensible, 
thank  Heaven;  and  he  was  lying  in  his  own  bed  when 
he  came  to  again.  Then  the  very  word  as  ever  he  spoke 
was,  ^Frederick!  where's  my  Frederick?'  and  Mr.  Mor- 
rit bid  me  put-to  Dobbin,  and  take  the  train  to  London, 
and  bring  you  back  home  at  once,  wherever  I  could  find 
you.  I  Was  to  go  to  Mr.  Johnson's  first,  as  you  had 
changed  your  lodgings  so  often  lately,  and  he  would  be 
likeliest  to  know  where  you  were." 

At  the  station,  there  w^as  a  carriage  and  pair  in  wait- 
ing for  Frederick.  *^  He  is  yet  alive,"  answered  the 
driver  to  Jacob  Lunes — and  they  wound  their  way  up 
from  the  white-sheeted  valley  to  the  Downland  as  fast  as 
the  snow  would  permit.  The  moonlight  shed  a  ghastly 
paleness  for  a  little  upon  all  that  the  snow  had  spared, 
and  then  the  treeless  tract  showed  ^Y?u  more  unspeaka- 


E\  IL     T  I  D  I  X  G  S  .  283 

bly  desolate  in  the  gray  aod  tardy  dawn.  It  was  scarcely 
daylight  when  they  came  in  sight  of  the  shining  Round. 
How  many  a  morning  had  smitten  that  lonely  earthen 
citadel,  bringing  with  it  joy  and  sorrow,  life  and  death, 
to  succeeding  generations  I  From  henceforth,  neither 
the  romance  of  history  nor  the  dawn  of  love  was  to  be 
associated  with  that  monument  of  the  past  in  Frederick's 
mind,  but  only  the  sense  of  loss. 

It  had  not  fallen  upon  him  as  yet,  however,  for  though 
the  blinds  were  down,  and  the  shutters  closed  in  all  other 
apartments  of  the  cottage,  his  father's  room,  up  to  the 
window  of  which  he  looked  with  anxious  fear,  was  not 
so  darkened,  and  the  face  of  his  uncle  was  at  the  pane, 
impatient  for  his  coming. 

It  was  Mr.  Morrit  who  opened  the  door  before  the 
carriage  stop})ed,  and  took  the  lad's  cold  hand  within 
his  own,  and  led  him  into  the  house  of  mourning.  Fred- 
erick understood  the  friendly  firmness  of  his  uncle's 
grasp,  and  returned  it  vrillingly.  It  was  no  time  for 
quarrel  now.  They.fetood  at  the  doorway  of  his  father's 
room ;  he  had  but  rarely  entered  it,  and  every  time  he 
had  done  so  seemed  to  recur  to  him  during  the  instant 
that  he  paused  upon  the  threshold.  He  had  learned  his 
prayers  there.  He  remembered  kneeling  down  between 
his  father's  knees,  with  his  childish  hands  folded  within 
the  doctor's  palms,  ar.d  repeating  the  simple  words  which 
he  used  even  now  morning  and  evening.  He  remem- 
bered with  what  delight  he  used  to  watch  him  shaving, 
an  operation  at  once  inexplicable  and  entrancing;  and 
with  what  less  agreeable  feelings  he  was  wont  to  repeat 
the  multiplication  and  pence  tables  during  other  portions 
of  the  doctor's  toilet.  The  good  mjn  had  had  such  very 
little  leisure,  that  he  had  made  the  most  of  every  oppor- 
tunitv  of  getting  the  society  of  his  boy.  It  was  an  apart- 
ment which  he  had  regarded  in  childhood  with  mystic  rev- 
erence, for  his  mother  had  died  there.  It  had  seemed  so 
strange  that  people  should  die  at  all,  and  especially  young 
people ;  and  her  picture  told  him  how  very  young  she  was. 


284  M  A  E  p.  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

That  portrait,  which  the  doctor  had  caused  to  be  taken 
to  his  son^s  room,  either  because  he  could  not  trust  him- 
self to  look  upon  it,  or  to  show  his  love  bv  lending  him 
the  most  precious  thing  he  had,  had  now  been  re-trans- 
ferred to  his  own  chamber.  It  hung  immediately  oppo- 
site to  the  sick  man's  pillow,  so  that  it  was  always  before 
his  eyes.  When  Frederick  entered,  the  motionless  form 
upon  the  bed  struck  him  with  horror.  The  doctor  was 
wont  to  have  a  brisk  and  cheejy  way  of  looking  up  at 
any  arrival,  even  though  he  knew  it  was  the  messenger 
of  tidings  which  would  carry  him  upon  a  profitless  jour- 
ney over  many  miles ;  but  now  not  a  muscle  moved.  A 
sort  of  mellow  sadness  stole  over  the  gray,  grave  face ;  his 
eyes  filled  slowly  with  tears,  and  his  lips  gave  audible 
thanks  to  Heaven  for  that  he  had  been  permitted  to  see 
his  son  before  he  died.  It  is  a  solemn  reflection  how 
often  we  are  made  the  subject  of  prayer,  the  topic  of 
spiritual  intercourse  between  our  Creator  and  those  who 
love  us,  but  when  he  who  prays  is  within  a  very  few 
hours,  perhaps  even  minutes,  of  'a  personal  communion 
with  God,  how  a^^*ful  is  the  mention  of  our  name  !  If 
the  pure  in  heart  shall  see  Him,  Dr.  Galton  was  hasten- 
ing of  a  surety  into  his  august  presence.  Everybody  in 
the  room  felt  that.  Mrs.  Hartojip  stood  by  the  bedside 
weeping,  but  not  sobbing,  for  she  knew  her  duty  as  a 
sick-nurse  too  well  for  the  indulgence  of  such  weakness ; 
whenever  she  had  to  pass  within  the  range  of  her  dear 
master's  vision,  she  took  care  that  not  a  tear  should  be 
visible.  ]Mr.  Morrit,  except  that  his  face  was  white, 
remained  outwardly  unmoved ;  but  when  he  spoke,  his 
voice  was  hoarse  and  broken.  The  parish  doctor,  a  very 
young  man,  and  not  much  used  to  such  sad  scenes,  was 
perhaps  themost  overcome.  Dr.  Galton  had  been  very 
kind  to  him  ;  it  was  actually  in  doing  him  a  gratuitous 
service  that  he  had  met  with  his  fatal  misfortune.  For 
the  present  time,  at  all  events,  gratitude  and  pity  swal- 
lowed up  all  thoughts  of  extension  of  country  practice, 
and  promotion  by  decease. 


EVIL     TIDINGS.  285 

It  was  a  necessary  attribute  of  Frederick  Gal  ton's 
mind  that  it  should  receive  these  impressions,  just  as  the 
retina  of  his  eye  took  in  the  material  accessories  of  the 
scene  without  his  volition;  but  all  his  thoughts,  as  all 
his  gaze,  were  concentrated  upon  his  dying  father.  He 
stooped  down  and  kissed  his  forehead,  and  then,  kneel- 
ing by  the  bedside,  hid  his  face  in  the  coverlet,  and 
sobbed  as  though  his  heart  would  break. 

"  Robert,"  said  the  sick  man,  plaintively — as  though 
he  would  have  added :  "  See  what  a  sensitive  nature,  and 
how  unfitted  to  battle  with  the  world  alone  is  here ! — be 
a  father  to  my  boy." 

'^  I  will,  if  he  will  let  me,  William,"  returned  the 
curate,  solemnly,  but  not  without  a  jar  in  the  words. 
"  He  knows  what  you  would  wish — he  knows — "  The 
sentence  was  never  finished.  A  sharp  pain  flitted  across 
Dr.  Galton's  face — Frederick  thought  it  was  an  expres- 
sion of  distress  at  his  -uncle's  tone — and  was  instantly 
replaced  by  a  look  of  measureless  content  and  calm.  It 
^was  the  welcome  of  the  peace  of  God,  which  passeth  all 
understand  ino^. 

Frederick  fainted  away.  When  he  came  to  himself, 
he  was  on  the  sofa  in  the  little  dining-room,  with  his 
uncle  sitting  by  his  head,  and  touching  his  temples  with 
eau-de-Cologne.  ^- You  and  I,  my  dear  boy,  are  now 
left  alone  in  the  world ;  your  dear  father  has  appointed 
me  to  be  your  guardian  ;  but  that  is  nothing  compared 
t')  the  importance  of  our  being  friends.""  Forgive  me  for 
speaking  of  anything  save  him  at  such  a  time  as  this ; 
l)Ut  I  know  how  soon  the  heart  of  man  grows  callous, 
and  forgets  such  scenes  as  that  we  have  just  witnessed. 
Frederick,  he  is  gone  from  earth,  but  you  owe  him  rev- 
erence still.  His  last"  thoughts,  his  last  words  were  for 
your  happiness :  if  he  had  had  the  power,  he  Avould  have 
besought  you  to  be  guided  by  me  in  the  one  great  act, 
which  once  committed  is  irrevocable.  I  charge  you  by 
the  remembrance  of  his  love,  now  quick  and  warm 
within  you,  to  promise  me  that  you  will  never  make  an 
infamous  marriage." 


286  MARRIED     BENEATH     Ml  M . 

Jacob  Limes,  then,  had  told  his  imcle  of  the  face  that 
had  looked  after  them,  piteoiisly,  as  they  left  it  in  its 
solitude  in  London. 

'^  Sir/'  answered  Frederick,  coldly,  ^'  I  have  never 
contemplated  incurring  any  such  disgrace." 

^^  I  do  not  wish  to  argue,  nephew ;  this  is  no  time  for 
that.  Promise  me  that  you  will  never  marry  Mary 
Perling.'' 

"  I  cannot  well  do  that,  uncle." 

"  Why  not,  boy  ?  why  not  ?" 

Mr.  Morrit  sjwke  with  impatience,  but  not  with  vexa- 
tion ;  like  one  wlio  perceives  an  obstacle  indeed,  but  also 
the  means  of  surmounting  it. 

"Because,"  continued  Frederick  Galton,  with  quiet 
distinctness,  "Mary  Perling  and  I  have  been  married 
these  five  months." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

CUTTING    THE    PAINTER. 

ri^HERE  are  many  persons,  neither  unintelligent  nor 
1  imprudent,  who  do  not  possess  the  faculty  of 
making  the  best  of  a  bad  job.  This  would  seem,  at  first 
sight,  to  be  the  most  ordinary  exercise  of  common  sense ; 
yet  people,  who  especially  pride  themselves  upon  that- 
very  quality,  are  often  the  least  capable  of  saying:  "Let 
bygones  be  bygones,"  and  "Better  luck  next  time." 
They  are  so  indignant  that  matters  have  turned  out 
contrary  to  their  sage  expectations,  and  especially  with 
those  who  have  acted  counter  to  their  advice,  that  they 
proceed  to  behave  with  far  greater  folly  than  that  which 
has  aroused  their  wrath.  The  simple  truth  that  what  is 
done  cannot  be  undone,  fails  to  strike  them  with  the 
proper  force.     Prevent,  while  it  is  yet  preventable,  by 


CUTTING     THE     PAINTER,  287 

every  possible  means,  your  ward's  running  away  with 
your  footman.  Drag  the  menial  by  his  swallow-tails 
from  the  very  altar  of  Hymen,  and  place  his  powdered 
head  under  the  pump.  Immure  the  would-be  bride  in 
the  second  pair  back,  with  nothing  but  works  on  eti- 
quette for  her  mental  pabulum.  Stick  at  nothing  in  the 
way  of  asseveration  of  how  you  will  never  advance  her  a 
shilling  until  you  are  obliged,  nor  give  her  intended 
husband  a  character  for  another  place  as  long  as  he 
lives.  Entreat,  protest,  denounce ;  you  can  scarcely  go 
too  far  in  the  way  of  menace.  But  if  the  mischief  is 
actually  doney  if  John  Thomas  has  married  the  heiress, 
she  by  no  means  unwilling,  how  foolish  is  it  ^o  put  any 
of  those  pronibitory  threats  in  action  I-  It  will  only  make 
matters  worse  to  keep  the  young  couple  in  penury  ;  to 
oblige  the  bridegroom  still  to  practise  his  profession  in 
velvet  smalls  and  silk  stockings — to  carry  the  poodle  of 
his  mistress,  when  he  ought  to  be  walking  arm-in-arm 
with  his  lawful  wife.  The  better  plan  would  obviously 
be  to  settle  the  ill-assorted  pair  in  some  obscure  locality, 
where  the  man  might  get  accustomed  to  trowsers,  to 
wearing  a  hat  without  a  gold  band,  and  be  broken  as  far 
as  possible  of  his  systematic  abuse  of  the  aspirate. 

But  nine  guardians  out  of  ten  never  behave  half  so 
sensibly  as  this.  They  pretend  that  they  have  a  duty  to 
perform  towards  Society,  and  that  an  example  must  be 
made  of  Miss  Laura  Matilda,  in  order  that  others  may 
be  detei'red  from  doing  likewise.  Under  this  transparent 
falsehood,  they  work  their  own  private  revenge.  So- 
ciety is  in  reality  delighted  with  the  mescdliance,  which 
affords  it  an  exciting  topic  of  talk  for  days;  while 
nothing  could  afford  so  much  comfort  to  the  injured 
guardian  of  social  morality  as  the  news  that  somebody 
else's  ward  had  done  the  same  or  worse.  Ordinary  folks 
do  not  act  upon  public  grounds  while  there  are  any 
private  ones  to  go  upon.  When  some  striking  event  is 
suddenly  dropped  into  the  quiet  backwater  of  our  lives,  it 
makes  manv  circles^  but  the  most  clearlv  marked  and 


288  MARRIED     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

sensible  are  those  which  are  close  at  hand;  it  concern 
ourselves,  our  families,  our  friends,  our  acquaintances, 
always  with  lessening  force,  until  it  scarcely  concerns 
Society  at  all  but  only  titillates  it.  Under  these  cir- 
cumstances, the  devotees  who  boast  of  sacrificing  to  so 
indifferent  a  divinity,  must  be  looked  upon  with  some 
suspicion. 

•  When  the  Rev.  Eobert  Morrit  heard  from  his 
nephew^'s  own  lips  that  he  had  married  his  late  father's 
household  servant,  he  was  honestly  outraged  and  indig- 
nant. His  language,  considering  the  circumstances — the 
dead  body  of  him  they  both  loved  best  in  the  world 
being  separated  from  them  but  by  a  board  or  two  and 
the  ceiling — was  violent,  and  certainly  ^vhat  the  lawyers 
call  "injurious."  He  accused  the  young  man  of  sys- 
tematic hypocrisy  and  selfish  passion.  He  even  went  so 
far  as  to  say  that  his  poor  father  had  met  with  a  kind 
friend  in  that  death  which  had  spared  him  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  son's  unworthiness.  But  when  the  first 
burst  of  wrath  Avas  spent,  and  he  took  to  talking  of  the 
sense  of  duty  that  would  compel  him  to  visit  such 
unfilial  conduct  Avith  marked  severity,  Frederick  grew 
angry  in  his  turn.  He  had  expected  an  outbreak  of 
resentment,  and  had  made  as  much  allowance  for  it  as 
could  be  expected  in  one  of  his  temperament,  but  he 
was  not  going  to  be  made  a  public  example  for  his 
uncle  to  preach  against.  In  his  contemptuous  scorn 
at  the  exhibition  of  such  vulgar  malice,  he  permitted 
himself  to  utter  certain  home -truths  concerning  the 
curate. 

'^  Look  you,  Mr.  Morrit,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  a 
child  any  longer,  so  you  may  spare  these  remarks  for 
your  next  sermon.  You  are  speaking  out  of  the  bitter- 
ness of  your  own  heart,  under  pretence  of  inculcating 
high-flown  moral  precepts.  AVheu  all  things  go  just 
as  you  would  order  them,  there  is  not  a  more  smooth- 
spoken, agreeable  gentleman  alive.  You  play  the  patron 
rery  graciously  I   but  let  the  client  presume  to  think  for 


CUTTING     THE     PAINTER.  289 

himself,  and  you  become  his  tyrant.  You,  who  are  all 
for  frankness,  can  be  false,  too,  ^vhen  you  think  false- 
ness will  serve  your  turn.  You  are  not  difficult  to  read, 
reverend  sir,,  at  all." 

"  Frederick  I — nephew !  For  God's  sake,  do  not  speak 
so  loud.  Remember  where  you  are,  and  what  has  hap- 
pened.    Are  you  mad?" 

"  Not  so  loud  !  "  continued  the  yoimg  man,  mockingly. 
"Ay,  that  is  the  parsons'  creed  all  over.  Let  us  be 
quiet,  and  shave  smoothly.  The  strength  of  sin  is  in 
being  found  out.  Yes,  I*  do  remember  what  has  hap- 
pened, sir,  and  I  have  to  thank  you  for  it.  But  for 
you  and  your  family  pride — which  was  not  so  stiff  but 
that  it  stooped  to  lies— I  should  have  been  in  my  own 
home  here,  along  with  my  dear  father,  and  perhaps  he 
would  not  have  been — " 

Mr.  Morrit  rose,  and  held  up  his  hand  with  quiet 
dignity.- 

"  I  say,  sir,"  continued  Frederick,  but  less  impetu- 
ously, "  that  had  he  been  left  to  himself  without  those 
worldly  counsels,  which  become  the  mouth  of  a  clergy- 
man so  ill,  he  would  have  consented  long  ago  to  my 
marriage.  Who  are  you,  that  have  dared  to  come  with 
your  shallow  talk  between  a  father  and  his  only  son  ?  " 

"  I  am  your  mother's  brother,  Frederick  Galton,  and 
I  regret  to'  say,  of  the  same  blood,  therefore,  with  your- 
self I  had  every  right  to  do  all  I  could  to  save  you— 
and  myself  too,  if  you  will  have  it  so— from  what  I 
considered,  and  do' consider  still,  a  lifelong  disgrace. 
You  have  forced  this  discussion  upon  me  in  this  time 
and  place — " 

"What!  J.?"  ejaculated  the  young  man.  "I  who 
woke  from  what  I  took  to  be  a  ghastly  dream  of  my 
father's  death,  to  hear  my  wife  reviled  by  your  sharp 
tongue.  Indeed,  Mr.  Morrit,  both  opportunity  and 
theme  were  of  your  own  gracious  choice." 

"  Then,  in  so  far  as  they  were  so,  I  am  sorry,  Mr. 
Frederick  Galton,"  returned  the  curate,  haughtily.     "In 
18 


290  MAEEIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

the  name  of  common   decency,  let  this  matter  rest  for 
the  present/^ 

"No,  no,  sir,"  answered  the  young  man,  hotly;  "since 
you  have  begun,  pray  finish.  There  is  something  behind  * 
which  you  have  yet  to  favor  me  with.  You  wear  a  con- 
cealed weapon ;  come,  what  is  it  ?  you  strove  to  rob  me 
of  my  father's  love ;  perhaps  you  have  succeeded  in  per- 
suading him — " 

Here  the  young  man  paused,  ashamed.  He  was  not 
so  blinded  by  passion  but  that  a  remembrance  of  early 
days  stole  in  upon  his  soul,  and  cpienched  his  speech  ere 
it  had  reached  its  bitter  end.  But  a  little  more  than 
twelve  months  l)ack,  this  man,  to  whom  he  \yas  attribut- 
ing such  baseness,  had  been  his  adviser,  teacher,  friend, 
his  beau-icleal  of  a  Christian  gentleman.  If  any  one,  a 
year  ago,  had  told  him  that  he  would  one  day  seriously 
quarrel  with  his  uncle,  Eobert  Morrit,  he  would  have 
laughed  at  the  absurdity  of  such  a  notion;  yet  now  he 
was  upon  the  jxnnt  of  accusing  him,  whom  he  knew  to 
be  one  of  the  most  generous  of  men,  of  covetous  greed ; 
nay,  worse,  of  having  endeavored  to  enrich  himself  in  a 
manner  worse  than  fraudulent  at  his  nephew's  expense. 

The  supposition"  was  hateful,  and  more  like  one  of 
those  monsters  of  the  imagination  that  are  said  to  intrude 
themselves  at  times  into  the  thoughts  of  the  purest,  than 
any  reasonable  idea.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  the  curate's 
countenance  did  not  express  either  contempt  or  indigna- 
tion. It  was  hard,  and  even  resentful,  but  there  was  a 
shamefacedness  about  it  altogether  inexplicable  to  the 
young  man ;  and  when  the  answer  came,  although  deter- 
mined and  deliberate  enough,  it  was  couched  in  some- 
what of  an  apologetic  tone. 

"  It  is  perfectly  true,  Frederick  Galton,  that  I  have 
succeeded  in  persuading' your  father  to  leave  his  property 
in  such  a  manner  that  I  can  exercise  control  over  it  for 
tlie  next  six  years — until,  that  is,  you  are  of  the  age  of 
twenty-five ;  while,  if  you  die  in  the  meantime,  I  should 
become  the  inheritor  of  all  you  possess," 


CCTTIXG  THE  PAINTEE.       291 

Frederick  started  up  with  an  oath  upon  his  lips,  the 
first  the  curate  had  ever  heard  him  speak,  the  first,  per- 
haps, he  had  ever  uttered  beneath  that  roof. 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  shock  you,  reverend  sir,"  pursued 
the  youno^  man,  bitterly;  "I  forgot  for  the  moment  your 
peculiar  moral  organization.  You  shudder  at  bad  ^Yords; 
the  appearance  of  evil  is  by  all  means  to  be  avoided; 
although  hvpocrisy  and  deceit,  and  fraud  should  all  shake 
hands  together  within  us,  as  they  have  in  you,  you  sanc- 
timonious slave ! "  ^^ 

"  Take  vou  care,  Frederick  Galton ;  take  you  care, 
rejoined    Mr.    :N[orrit,   his   voice   trembling   with    pas- 
sion.    "There   are    some   things   which,   once   said,  we 
cannot  forgive.     I  wish  to  act  fairly  and  justly  in  the 
matter." 

Frederick  laughed  aloud.  Mrs.  Hartopp  heard  him 
in  that  awful  chamber  overhead,  and  shuddered.  ^  Flad 
her  poor  young  master  gone  mad  with  grief?  Should 
she  venture  down  into  the  parlor?  Xo;  his  good  kind 
uncle  was  with  him,  who  would  know  how  to  manage 
him  far  better  than  she. 

"  I  repeat,"  continued  the  curate,  "  1  do  not  mean  to 

be  cruel to  act  otherwise  than  with  the  firmness  I  had 

alwavs  intended ;  onlv  do  not  rouse  that  devil  within  me. 


which  is  in  everv  man." 


What!  even  in  clergymen?"  returned  Frederick, 
mockino'lv.     "  You  astonish  me  ! " 

"  I  will  allow  you  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a 
vear,  which  would  have  been  ample  for  you  as  a  single 
inan ;  but  I  will  take  no  notice  of  such  an  alliance  as 
you  have  chosen  to  form.  I  ignore  it  altogether— I  will 
never  acknowledge  it." 

"That  will  be  terrible,  indeed,  sir,"  observed  the 
voung  man,  derisively,  "your  patronage  being  so  indis- 
pensable ;  but,  just  at  present,  I  am  most  interested  in  the 
pecuniary  question.  Am  I  to  understand,  once  for  all, 
that  I  am  entirely  dependent  upon  your  will  and  pleasure 
for  my  income;   and  that  I   shall   be,  until  the  age  of 


292  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

twenty-iive,  a  beggar,  indebted  to  you  for  such  ahns  as 
vou  consider  sufficient  ?  ^' 

^^  Such,  sir,  are  your  actual  circumstances,"  returned 
the  curate,  coldly,  ^'  although  you  need  not  have  expressed 
them  in  such  offensive  terms." 

"And  if  you  manage  to  get  me  poisoned  in  tlie  mean- 
time, you  will  be  my  sole  heir,  notwithstanding  I  may 
leave  wife  and  children  destitute  behind  me." 

"  If  you  die  within  the  2)eriod  you  mention,"  answered 
Mr.  Morrit,  "  I  shall  be  your  sole  heir." 

'^  The  very  house,  then,  in  which  I  now  stand,  is  yours 
tor  the  present,  and  may  be  yours  altogether ;  the  roof 
under  which  I  was  born  may  no  longer  shelter  me,  unless 
]jy  your  good  leave !  " 

"There  is  no  need  to  talk  of  such  things  as  these, 
Frederick  Galton,"  groaned  the  curate ;  "  you  have  said 
enough  already  to  supply  bitter  thoughts  for  my  whole 
lifetime.  How  did  this  dreadful  talk  begin?  This  last 
liour,  God  knows,  has  been  far,  far  more  terrible  than 
any  in  my  life." 

"  I  am  truly  sorry,  sir,  to  have  thus  inconvenienced 
vou,"  pursued  the  young  man,  with  a  savage  sneer;  "but 
I  Avish  clearly  to  understand  our  relative  position.  I 
would  not  trespass  upon  your  generous  forbearance  upon 
any  account.  I  particularly  desire  to  know  whether  I 
am  your  guest,  here  in  my  father's  house,  whether,  in  a 
word,  it  is  yours  or  mine." 

"  It  is  yours,  Frederick.  Your  poor  father  made  an 
especial  exception  of  this  cottage  Avhen  disposing  pro- 
visionally of  the  rest  of  his  property,  and  l)ecause  there 
were  associations  about  it  doubtless  dear  to  you — " 

"  Let  us  waive  all  that,  Mr.  Morrit,  if  you  please. 
The  time  has  long  gone  by  for  the  introduction  of  senti- 
ment in  any  discussion  between  you  and  me.  Am  I  the 
master  of  the  house  or  not  ?  " 

"  You  are ;  as,  of  course  you  would  be,"  added  the 
curate,  hurriedly,  "  whether  it  was  left  to  you  or  to  me." 

"  Perhaps,"   returned   Frederick,  cynically ;  "  but,  at 


CUTTING      T  H  i:      P  A  I  X  T  E  R  .  293 

all  event?,  the  house  is  mine.  Good.  Then,  the  first 
use  I  make  of  my  proprietorship  is  to  request  you  to  rid 
lue  of  your  presence,  which,  is  distasteful  to  me  in  the 
highest  deo;ree." 

"  Wh'dt !  Frederick  Galton,  would  you  turn  me  out 
of  doors  ■? "  pleaded  the  curate,  with  a  glance  at  the 
little  carriage-sweep  outside,  where  a  knot  of  downcast 
faces  were  collected,  talking  together  in  hushed  tones. 

"Ay,'^  replied  the  young  man,  ''  that  I  will ;  I  wish 
there  were  more  to  see  you.  That  is  where  the  sting 
lies,  is  it  not?  But  cheer  up,  sir;  you  may  take  your 
revenge  afterward  fifty-fold." 

Yes,  Frederick  could  even  refer  to  those  happy  days 
of  teacher  and  pupil,  and  the  thought  of  them  actually 
strengthened  his  vindictive  purpose.  He  saw  before 
him,  as  he  imagined,  a  hypocrite  so  adroit  and  smooth, 
that  he  had  never  been  so  much  as  suspected  of  a  base-, 
ness — one  who  had  obtained,  under  false  pretences,  his 
own  respect  and  love,  and  who  had  gained  such  influence 
over  his  father  as  to  persuade  him  to  wrong  his  only  and 
beloved  son.  He  could  not,  or  Avould  not  perceive  the 
well-meant  thouo:h  most  mistaken  motive  which  had 
prompted  his  uncle  to  advise  such  a  disposition  of  the 
good  doctor's  very  considerable  property.  He  was 
ignorant  that  a  clause  nraking  the  curate  heir  in  case  of 
his  own  demise  before  a  certain  age,  was  necessary  to  the 
carrying  out  of  the  intention  of  the  testator.  He  really 
believed  that  Mr.  Morrit  had  robbed  him,  and,  what  was 
worse,  was  in  a  position  to  rob  the  wife  of  his  bosom, 
and  the  children  which  she  might  bear  to  him,  in  the 
event  of  his  own  death  before  he  reached  five-and-twenty. 
He  knew  that  his  uncle  regarded  his  marriage  as  a  family 
humiliation  and  disgrace ;  that  he  would  probably  mani- 
fest his  disapprol)ation  by  every  means  in  his  power. 
It  galled  him  beyond  measure  to  be  dependent  upon  him 
under  such  circumstances  as  these,  and  he  cared  for 
nothing,  for  the  present,  save  to  show  his  contempt  and 
WTath. 


294  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

Mr.  Morrit,  on  the  other  hand,  was  far  from  satisfied 
with  respect  to  the  advice  which  he  had  offered  to  his 
late  brother-in-law,  and,  indeed,  had  importuned  him  to 
act  upon.  The  will  had  been  draw^i  jip  and  signed  only 
a  few  months  before,  at  a  date  actually  subsequent  to 
that  on  which  Frederick  had  ftiken  the  imprudent  step 
against  which  it  was  mainly  directed.  If  his  marriage 
had  been  known,  matters  would  doubtless  have  been 
arranged  far  otherwise. 

Mr.  Morrit  had  intended  to  use  his  powers  solely  for 
the  purpose  for  vrhich  they  had  been  delegated  to  him, 
namely  to  prevent  that  social  catastrophe  which  had 
already  occurred.  They  were  never  intended  as  an 
instrument  of  punishment  after- the  offence  had  been 
committed,  but  so  enraged  had  the  curate  been  on  the 
sudden  disclosure  of  the  mesalliance,  that  he  behaved 
and  spoke  of  them  as  if  they  were.  He  knew  that  he 
was  treating  tlic  young  Benedict  somewhat  unfairly,  but 
he  had  no  idea  of  the  proportions  his  error  liad  assumed 
in  his  nephevv's  eyes.  He  could  not  believe,  no  matter 
in  how  ill  a  liglit  his  conduct  might  appear,  that  Fred^ 
erick  Galton  would  seriously  insist  upon  his  leaving  the 
cottage.  Yet  the  young  man's  eyes  looked  very  hard 
and  stern  as  he  stood  wdth  his  fingers  on  the  handle  of 
the  open  parlor-door,  and  motioned  with  his  other  hand 
that  his  uncle  should  pass  through  into  the  little  hall. 
There  is  no  determination  (while  it  lasts)  so  immutable 
as  that  of  passionate,  wounded  pric^e.  Frederick  Galton 
would  have  said,  "  Go  !  "  though  all  the  earthly  prospects 
of  him  and  his  depended — as,  indeed,  it  seemed  they  did 
— upon  his  saying  the  contrary.  "You  cannot  bid  me 
leave  this  house,''  appealed  his  uncle,  w^ith  a  look  quite 
scared  at  the  dreadful  pass  to  which  matters  had 
somehow  arrived — "with  my  best  friend  lying  dead 
in  it — my  sister's  husband — the  father  of  the  lad  that 
once — " 

"  We  have  had  enough  of  that,  Mr.  ]\Iorrit,  and  more 
than    enough,"    interrupted    tlie    young    man,    grimly. 


AN     UNWELCOME     PATRON.  295 

"Permit  me  to  undo  the  latch.  Yon  have  forgotten 
your  hat,  sir.  Here  it  is.  I  beg  you  will  not  trouble 
yourself  to  cross  this  threshold  again." 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

AN    UNWELCOME    PATRON. 

MOXEY,  let  us  concede,  is  not  everything,  but  it  is 
a  very  great  deal.  The  young  philosopher  may 
smile  at  the  solemn  manner  in  which  it  is  referred  to  by 
those  who  show  reverence  for  little  else ;  he  may  make 
merry  with  the  serious  change  that  comes  over  the  cheery 
and  good-tempered  business  man  while  he  is  worshipping 
at  Mammon's  shrine;  but  there  is  really  something  won- 
drous and  almost  terrible  in  the  povrer  of  money,  and 
such  as  belongs  to  few  other  things.  To  have  too  much 
of  it,  it  is  agreed  on  all  hands  to  be  a  very  dangerous 
matter,  likely  to  lead  its  possessor  to  his  eternal  ruin. 
When  Garrick  showed  to  Johnson  his  villa  and  his 
gardens,  expecting  to  hear  them  admired,  the  lexicogra- 
pher greatly  disappointed  him  by  replying:  "Ah,  David, 
David,  these  are  the  things  which  make  a  death-bed 
terrible !  '^  On  the  other  hand,  an  empty  purse  is  said 
on  good  authority  to  be  an  equally  perilous  possession^ 
and  indeed  has  been  entitled  by  a  divine  of  the  English 
church  "the  very  devil."  Finally,  even  moderate  wealth 
has  been  inveighed  against ;  that  fatal  gift,  a  little  com- 
petence, which  prevents  a  man  from  exerting  his  energies 
and  makes  him  useless  all  the  days  of  his  life. 

But  where  Mammon  shows  himself  most  hateful  and 
most  strong,  is  when  he  is  set  in  opposition  to  human 
love ;  when  he  stands  frowning  between  two  fond  hearts 
that  would  fain  be  one ;  or  sits  upon  the  tomb  of  the 


296  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

dead,  and  unlinks  the  loving  hands  of  the  survivors,  who, 
now  that  they  have  lost  their  common  friend,  should 
surely  have  journeyed  on  more  closely  knit  together  than 
ever.  AV^hat  a  legacy  of  disappointment,  and  jealousy, 
and  hate,  do  men  often  leave  behind  them  among  those, 
too,  against  whom  they  have  had  no  ill-will !  How 
often  has  the  grave  of  a  parent  been  the  gulf  which  has 
sundered  brother  from  brother  forever  in  this  world  ! 
How  often  have  tenderness,  and  fostering  care,  and  the 
self-sacrifice  of  a  whole  life,  been  erased  from  the  con- 
scious heart  by  a  single  pen-stroke  in  a  dead  man^s  will ! 
The  deepest  affection  is  dried  up,  the  keenest  gratitude  is 
blunted  ;  and  confidence  and  filial  love — the  very  elements 
which  have  most  hallowed  the  past — are  plucked  up  in  a 
moment  by  the  roots,  and  cast  aside  forever.  The  evil 
that  we  do  lives  after  us ;  and  the  last  deed  we  do — the 
making  of  our  will — ^may  sow  more  ill  than  all  that  we 
have  planted  in  that  teeming  soil,  the  human  heart, 
throughout  our  lives. 

When  Frederick  Galton,  having  turned  his  only  rela- 
tive out  of  doors,  shut  himself  up  in  his  own  bed-room, 
next  to  that  in  which  lay  his  father's  corpse,  it  was  not 
only  to  grieve.  His  grief  was  great  and  genuine,  but  it 
was  mingled  with — I  had  almost  written  mitigated  by — 
a  bitter  sense  of  wrong.  He  thought,  with  tears,  of  the 
thousand  ways  and  words  wherein  the  good  doctor  had 
shown  his  love  for  his  son.  The  driving-gloves  that 
were  lying  on  the  hall-table  as  he  came  up-stairs ;  the 
watch  that  some  one  had  transferred  to  his  chamber  from 
the  pillow  of  him  who  had  now  done  with  time  forever ; 
the  Bible  which  that  nerveless  hand  had  given  him  years 
and  years  ago — the  sight  of  these  things  stabbed  him 
like  a  sword.  But  the  thought  of  a  beautiful  and  loving 
face  watching  for  him  with  patient  sadness,  also  occurred 
to  him,  and  stayed  his  tears  for  him  that  had  done  her 
wrong,  and  set  his  teeth  in  hate  against  the  officious  fool 
that  had  advised  the  doing  of  it. 

Alone,  then,  in  that  desolate  home,  Frederick  passed 


AX     UX  WELCOME     PATRON.  297 

the  weary  days  that  elapsed  between  the  death  and  burial 
of  his  father — such  days  as  are   like  no  others  in  the 
experience  of  our  lives ;  when  the  awful  stillness  of  the 
house  is  broken  by  yet  more  awful  sounds,  and  strangers 
come  and  go  at  will   in  the  chambers  that  were  once  so 
sacred,  and  minister  to  him  who  cares  not  now  for  loving 
service.     The  young  man  need   not  have  been  without 
company,  had  he  been  disposed  for  it.     Squire  Mevrick 
(whose  son  Avas  not  at  home,  it  being  term-time  at  Cam- 
ford)  came  in  person  to  invite  him,  to  the  Grange.     Mr. 
Tregarthen  called,  and  was  very  pressing  in  his  desire  to 
see  him.     But  the  orphaned  lad  would  see  nobody.     He 
well  knew  that  the  chief  object  of  both  these  gentlemen^s 
visits  was  to  induce  him  to  be  reconciled  to  his  uncle, 
the  news  of  their  quarrel  having  spread   far  and  wide. 
AVherever  the  good   doctor's  death  was  talked  of,  the 
marriage    of    Frederick    was    discussed    also,    and   the 
estrangement  that   had   already  grown  out  of  that  ill- 
judged  union.     Even  on  the  day  of  the  funeral,  when 
half  the  gentry  of  the  county,  who  had  come  over  the 
snowy  wastes  for  miles  to  do  honor  to  their  old  friend's 
memory,  were  assembled  in  that  low-roofed  breakfast- 
room  at  Casterton,  the  conversation   turned  at  least  as 
much  upon  the  son  as  on  the  father.     How  strange  and 
indecent  it  seemed  that  Mr.  jSforrit  should .  not  be  there 
among  them  on  such  an  occasion  as  that !     How  resentful 
must  the  young  man  have  been  of  a  few  words  of  cen- 
sure !  how  impatient  of  wholesome  control !     Such  con- 
duct towards  his   natural  guardian  was  not  the  way  to 
conciliate  the  public  opinion,  already  outraged  by  his 
choice  of  a  serving-maid  for  his  partner  for  life.     And 
with   respect  to  that  matter,  what  was  to   be  done  in 
future,  in  case  he  should  choose  to  live  at   Casterton  ? 
It  was  quite  impossible  that  their  wives  and  daughters 
could  call  upon  Mrs.  Galton.     That  would  have  been  an 
encouragement  to  every  dairy-maid  in  the  country  to 
entrap  the  affections  of  her  master's  son — a  positive  pre- 
mium upon  that  vice  which  is  erroneously  called  Pamela, 


298  MAE  EI  ED     BE>'EATH      HIM. 

or  Virtue  Rewarded.  And  was  she  really  a  respectable 
girl,  by-the-by,  eh,  was  she?  Then  the  old  gentlemen's 
heads  wagged  knowingly,  and  they  whispered  to  one 
another  in  unctuous  tones  ;  so  that  when  the  poor  young 
man  appeared  in  his  sombre  garments,  pale  and  hagg:ard, 
and  looking  as  unlike  a  gay  Lothario  as  could  be,  they 
set  him  down  as  a  sort  of  Joseph  Surface. 

If  the  gentry  of  Downshire  expected  homage  from 
Frederick  Galton,  or  the  slightest  taste  of  apology  for 
liis  late  offence  against  society,  in  look,  or  air,  or  tone, 
they  must  assuredly  have  been  disapjDointed.  His  man- 
ner to  Mr.  Tregarthen  of  Tregarthen,  the  first  commoner 
in  the  county,  and  who  had  married,  it  was  understood, 
a  lineal  descendant  of  William  the  Conqueror,  was  at 
least  that  of  equal  with  equal.  He  was  courteous  as  Sir 
Charles  Grandison  to  all,  and  acknowledged  with  feeling 
their  expressions  of  sympathy ;  but  he  understood  what 
was  passing  through  their  minds  concerning  him  and  his 
as  clearly  as  though  he  had  overheard  their  recent  talk ; 
tliere  was  antagonism  between  them  and  him ;  and  in  his 
heart  he  cursed  the  social  usage  which  brings  together  a 
herd  of  mere  acquaintances  to  divide  the  last  duties  to 
the  dead  ^Wth  his  nearest  and  dearest.  Mere  respect, 
however  deep  and  genuine,  should  not  be  permitted  to 
walk  side  by  side  Avith  love  to  the  foot  of  the  grave,  and 
the  sacred  tears  of  grief  should  be  suffered  to  flow  unre- 
strained and  out  of  sight  of  curious  eyes.  Yet  rarely, 
perhaps,  had  the  obsequies  of  any  man  been  attended  by 
more  genuine  mourners  than  followed  Dr.  Galton  to  the 
grave.  Almost  every  man  and  woman  in  Casterton, 
however  poor,  had  put  on  a  piece  of  crape  or  ribbon  in 
token  of  that  friend  whom  all  had  lost,  and  were  waiting, 
hushed  and  solemn,  in  the  church  or  in  the  God's-acre. 
They,  too,  had  heard,  and  greedily  discussed,  the  breach 
between  uncle  and  nephew;  but  they  were  more  imme- 
diately and  materially  concerned  in  the  good  doctor's  loss 
than  their  betters,  and  it  was  that  which  mainly  filled 
their  minds.     Manv  a  hornv  hand  was  raised  bv  that 


A  X      U  X  ^V  E  L  C  O  M  E     I'  A  T  R  O  X  .  299 

grave-side  to  wipe  away  tears  from  unaccustomed  eyes ; 
many  a  mother  held  up  her  child  as  the  dark  coffin  was 
lowered  into  its  bed,  and  bade  it  look  its  last  upon  the 
best  friend  that  mother  had  ever  had  in  sickness  and  in 
sorrow.  Mr.  !Morrit  read  the  beautiful  service  for  the 
dead  with  his  usual  distinctness  of  utterance,  but  every 
now  and  then  he  paused,  for  there  was  something  in  his 
throat  that  went  nigh  to  choke  him.  When  all  was 
over,  the  crowd  still  stood  around  the  sacred  place,  as 
though  expecting  Frederick  and  the  curate  would  reach 
out  a  hand  to  one  another.  Mr.  Tregarthen  leaned  over 
towards  the  latter,  and  whispered  something  into  his  ear, 
but  the  moment  had  gone  by  for  the  reconciliation,  even 
if  he  suggested  it ;  the  young  man  had  already  turned, 
and  was  walking  homeward  with  hasty  strides. 

At  the  churcli-yard  gate,  however,  some  one  hailed 
him  by  name,  and  there  stood  Mr.  Thomas  Morrit, 
holding  out  five  very  shaky  fingers. 

"  This  is  a  very  bad  business.  Master  Frederick," 
hiccuped  he ;  "  I  don't  mean  my  poor  friend,  your  father's 
death,  becatise  death  happens  to  all ;  but  this  other  affair 
— your  marriage." 

Frederick  stopped  and  stared  at  the  audacious  speaker 
with  a  look  of  dumb  surprise ;  then  he  strove  to  pass  on, 
but  the  other  seized  his  hand,  and  shook  it  in  his  giant 
grasp  with  maudlin  vehemence. 

"  Xow  look  you,  Fred,  my  boy  ;  I'll  stand  your  friend. 
I've  an  eye  for  a  pretty  girl  myself,  and  can  pardon  these 
little  peccadillos.  You're  right  enough  to  have  made  an 
honest  woman  of  her — that's  what  I've  said  to  every- 
body; and  I'll  act  up  to  it.  Xow  the  day  after  you 
bring  her  to  Casterton,  my  wife  shall  come  over  and  call 
upon  her — there — that's  a  bargain." 

"You  are  most  kind,"  answered  Frederick;  "most 
kind,  I  am  sure." 

He  spoke  with  frightful  bitterness,  btit  Mr.'  Thomas 
Morrit  perceived  nothing  of  that ;  for  not  being  able  to 
resist  the  strong  liquors,  and   especially  the  port,  pro- 


300  MARE  I  ED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

vided  at  the  house  of  mourning,  he  had  been  passing  the 
last  hour  and  a  half  in  rendering  himself  intoxicated. 

Mr.  Thomas  Morrit  seemed  to  be  the  only  individual 
in  Downshire  prepared  to  forgive  the  young  man  the 
grievous  wrong  he  had  committed  against  society  in 
marrying  Mary  Perling;  he  might  evidently  have  done  far 
worse  without  half  the  blame,  for  vice  is  common  enouu^h, 
it  is  said,  among  youth  of  the  first  quality  ;  but  the  folly 
of  a  legal  union  with  an  ineligible  young  woman,  is 
almost  as  rare  as  it  is  irreparable.  Even  Mrs.  Hartopp, 
the  housekeeper,  had  regarded  her  young  master,  ever 
since  she  knew  that  he  was  her  nephew  l)y  marriage,  with 
at  least  as  much  pity  as  admiration.  She  acknowledged  to 
herself  that  he  had  behaved  '^very  honorable;"  but  she 
Avould  rather,  upon  the  whole,  that  the  young  couple  had 
never  set  eyes  upon  one  another.  She  never  opened  her 
lips  upon  the  subject,  until  he  was  about  to  enter  the 
carriage  which  took  him  to  the  railway  station  on  the 
very  evening  of  the  funeral,  and  then  she  only  observed : 
^' Well,  I  do  hope,  Master  Frederick,  after  all  this  sad, 
sad  work,"  and  the  old  lady  shook  her  head,  as  though 
it  Avas  not  for  her  to  gainsay  the  opinion  of  the  county, 
"  that  [Mary  will  make  you  a  good  wife." 

"  If  she  does  not  do  so,"  replied  the  young  man,  ear- 
nestly, and  they  were  the  first  healthy,  hopeful  words 
which  he  had  spoken  for  some  davs — '■'  if  she  does  not 
make  me  a  good  wife,  Xanny,  it  will  be  my  own  fault, 
God  bless  her !  and  not  hers," 


LIFE     WITHOUT     BUTCH  EES'     BILLS.     301 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 

LIFE   WITHOUT   BUTCHEES'    BILLS. 

THE  marriage  of  Frederick  Galtou,  bachelor,  with 
Marv  Perling,  spinster  (for  so  tar  society  and  the 
most  respectable  Church  Establishment  in  Europe  had 
nothing  to  object  to  the  contract),  had  been  solemnized 
in  a  very  quiet  and  unostentatious  manner.  It  had  been 
a  fashionable  wedding  in  this  respect,  that  "  no  cards " 
had  been  issued  to  the  friends  of  either  bride  or  bride- 
groom— but  in  no  other.  Mary  had  provided  herself,  in 
a  marvellous  short  time,  with  a  very  inconsiderable 
trousseau,  by  the  aid  of  which,  however,  she  somehow 
contrived  to  look  as  ladylike  and  beautiful  as  any  woman 
in  Belgravia.  She  was  really,  to  all  appearance,  a  born 
lady,  as  her  poor  lather  used  to  say  of  her,  with  pardon- 
able pride ;  but  for  my  part,  so  far  as  looks  go,  I  cannot 
see  the  difference  between  persons  of  her  sex  who  are 
born  ladies  and  those  avIio  are  artificial  imitations.  To 
know  a  gentleman  from  a  snob,  is  easy  enough  :  but  to 
discriminate  between  two  lovely  females — unless  one  of 
them  carries  a  cotton  umbrella,  a  prayer-book  folded  up 
in  a  pocket-handkerchief,  or  some  other  decided  badge 
of  social  position — is  altogether  beyond  this  present 
writer.  I  have  seen  such  elegantly  dressed  and  graceful 
creatures  flirting  in  Kensington  Grardens,  u])on  a  Siindav, 
with  her  Majesty's  Foot-guards,  as  have  excite<l  the 
liveliest  apprehensions  in  my  breast  with  respect  to  the 
morals  of  our  female  aristocracy.  They  were  doubtless 
only  ladies'-maids,  at  highest,  but  who  was  to  tell  them 
from  ladies  ?  Females — and  especially  lovely  females — 
have  such  a  natural  aptitude  of  making  the  best  of  them- 
selves ;  they  are  so  ingenious  in  the  provision  of  orna- 
ment ;  and  beauty  itself,  although  so  common,  is  so  daintv 
and  glorious  a  possession,  that  I  conclude  the  whole  sex 


302  MARRIED     B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HIM. 

to  be  ladies,  as  Sir  Philip  Sidney  (or  some  such  military 
enthusiast)  is  said  to  have  set  do^Yn  all  soldiers  as  gen- 
tlemen. 

Even  women  themselves  are  liable  to  be  deceived  in 
this  matter,  as  you  may  tell  from  the  sharp  suspicious 
way  in  which  they  scan  one  another  in  public,  and  make 
their  rapid  valuations  respecting  apparel,  and  the  like,  as 
their  sisters,  who  are  also  unfortunately  their  rivals,  pass 
by.  ^^Ah,  gown  turned ;  gloves  cleaned ;  parasol  only 
newly  covered,  unless  my  eyes  deceive  me,'^  etc.  I  dare- 
say Mrs.  Frederick  Galton's  toilet  was  not  thought  very 
much  of  by  other  newly-married  young  ladies ;  although, 
if  valued  according  to  the  labor  of  love  bestowed  upon  it, 
it  would  have  excelled  the  attire  of  a  duchess.  It  had 
caused  sleep  to  desert  dear  widow  Perling's  eves  for 
nights,  not  that  she  sat  up  like  a  poor  milliner,  "stitch, 
stitch,  stitch,^^  at  the  garments  J  n  question,  but  that  she 
lay  awake,  hour  after  hour,  thinking  of  them,  and  how 
lovely  her  dear  Mary  would  look  in  them.  Heaven  bless 
such  vanity,  say  I,  and  make  our  nightly  thoughts  as 
innocent!  She  did  work  at  them,  a  little;  she  did  all 
that  she  could  trust  herself  to  do.  But  the  more  im- 
portant articles  (let  me  tell  you)  were  town  made;  Old- 
borough  never  turned  out  the  wedding-gown,  nor  yet  the 
bonnet.  It  was  not  an  occasion  for  sparing  money,  as 
the  dear,  good,  sensible,  economical  old  soul  could  clearlv 
perceive.  Xobody  should  be  able  to  put  a  slight  upon 
her  married  daughter,  with  respect  to  her  apparel  at 
least ;  and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  honest  pride,  preferable 
to  the  humility  of  most  folks,  that  the  old  dame  refused 
certain  pecuniary  help,  which  Frederick  delicately  ten- 
dered, at  this  period  of  necessary  extravagance.  "  My 
daughter  has  no  dower,  it  is  true,"  thought  the  stout  old 
dame,  "  but  it  behoves  me  all  the  more  to  see  that  she 
has  a  becoming  wardrobe."  It  was  charming  to  see  how 
perfectly  her  new  son-in-law  appreciated  her  in  all  that 
she%aid  or  did  with  respect  to  ilary.  The  very  subject 
upon  which  most  men  spb't  with  their  mothers-in-law — 


LIFE     WITHOUT     BUTCHEES'     BILLS.     303 

namely,  their  own  wife — was  the  bond  of  union  between 
himself  and  the  widow  Perling. 

When  that  eclaircisscmcuf,  which  we  foresaw  was  an 
inevitable  consequence  upon  ^Ir.  Frederick's  deceptive 
conduct  in  Grosvenor  Square,  took  place,  Mary's  mother 
had  sought  him  out  in  person  as  she  had  done  at  Camford. 
A  more  vulgar  nature  would  probably  have  resented  this 
second  visit^ition,  but  Frederick  bore  her  deserved  re- 
proaches as  from  one  who  had  a  right  to  give  them,  and 
did  loyal  homage  to  her  in  his  heart  at  the  same  time. 
He  had  placed  her  daughter  and  his  intended  wife  in  a 
very  false  position  at  Lady  Ackers's.  Mrs.  Mettal,  the 
housekeeper,  had  had  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  with  her 
ladvship,  who  was  of  the  old  school,  and  a  great  stickler 
for  the  proprieties ;  and  she  herself  was  deeply  incensed 
that  a  voung  girl  lodging  under  her  particular  protection 
should*  have  been  so  used.  Sir  Geoffrey  Ackers  cut  Mr. 
Frederick  Galton  dead,  as  they  met  face  to  face  in  that 
little  passage  which  leads  from  Bolton  Row  to  Berkeley 
street,  and  where  recognition  may  be  said  to  be  a  necessity. 
^'  The  idea  of  a  man  having  the  bad  taste  to  come  to  one's 
mother's  house  to  court  a  maid-servant,  and,  upon  being 
found  out,  to  pretend  to  be  making  a  morning  call ! " 
He  treated  the  notion  of  intended  marriage  as  a  chimera 
of  Mrs.  Mettal's  brain,  or  as  an  impudent  invention  of 
the  offender,  extemporized  to  mitigate  his  crime.  It  is 
terrible  to  think  what  Mary  herself  endured  among  society 
in  that  sunk  floor  of  Grosvenor  Square  during  the  forty- 
eight  hours  which  followed  her  lover's  visit.  At  the 
expiration  of  that  period,  Mrs.  Perling  (summoned  in 
haste,  but  not  needing  to  be  urged)  arrived  in  town,  and 
took  her  into  lodgings ;  and  then  went  off  to  present  a 
piece  of  her  mind  to  Mr.  Frederick,  who,  as  I  have  said, 
was  pleased  to  receive  it  very  graciously. 

"  I  have  behaved,"  confessed  he,  frankly,  "  like  a  snob 
and  a  fool  in  one.  Xothing  you  can  say,  madam,  can 
make  me  experience  a  keener  sense  of  shame  and  degrada- 
tion than  that  which  I  alreadv  feel.     I  have  no  excuse 


304:  MARRIED     BENEATH      HUM. 

whatever  to  offer  for  my  baseness ;  but  I  will  make  what 
reparation  I  can.  I  will  marry  clear  Mary  immediately 
— that  is,  if  she  will  have  me.'' 

And  dear  Mary  was  much  more  forgiving  than  he 
deserved,  and  consented  so  to  do.  Mr.  Frederick  Galton 
therefore  procured  a  license,  after  that  very  moderate 
delav  which  the  law  interposes  betw^een  two  devoted  souls 
who  have  contrived  hitherto  to  exist  in  separate  parishes, 
and  took  unto  him  Mary  Perling  to  wife.  The  widow^ 
was  present  at  the  wedding,  but  not  Jane ;  a  convenient 
indisposition  prevented  her  coming  up  from  Oldborough. 
It  is  better,  thought  she  to  herself,  that  one  like  me,  a 
poor  cripple  in  a  cotton  gown,  shoukl  be  absent  on  such 
an  occasion.  It  was  bliss  enough  for  her  to  work  at  the 
trousseau,  and  to  select  the  flowers  for  her  sister's  bouquet, 
and  for  the  adornment  of  her  new  London  home.  The 
marriage  was  to  be  kept  a  secret  for  the  present,  until 
some  opportunity  should  arise — which  ^ve  know,  alas!  it 
never  did — for  breaking  the  news  to  Dr.  Galton.  In  the 
meantime,  Mr.  Frederick  worked  very  hard  at  his  pro- 
fession, in  hopes  to  be  able  to  give  a  good  account  of  his 
prospects,  whenever  the  necessity  for  disclosure  should 
come,  as  well  as  to  provide  for  present  needs. 

This  latter  task,  even  at  the  very  starting-point  of  his 
matrimonial  career,  was  not  an  easy  one.  His  allowance 
from  his  father,  although  amply  sufficient  for  himself, 
was  not  enough  for  two.  Had  Mary  been  as  good  a 
manager  as  her  sister,  he  would  probably  have  lived  as 
cheaply  as  a  bachelor  ;  for  a  wife  who  knows  her  domestic 
duties  is  an  absolute  saving  to  a  mau,  all  the  nonsense 
that  has  been  talked  concerning  the  three-handred-pound- 
a-year  marriage  question  notwithstanding;  but  Mrs. 
Galton  had  very  imperfect  notions  about  domestic 
economy,  and  those  only  adapted  to  a  country  Jife. 
Frederick  himself,  altliough  not  extravagant  after  the 
manner  of  many  young  gentlemen  of  the  town,  who  can- 
not pass  a  haberdasher's  window  without  coveting  some 
scarf,  at  once  beautiful  and  chaste,  or  a  jeweller's  without 


LIFE     WITHOUT     BUTCHERS       BILLS.     dOo 

hankering  after  some  pin  to  stick  into  it,  was,  to  say  the 
least,  of  expensive  habits.  He  had  never  been  under  the 
necessity  of  denying  himself  an  ice,  if  he  was  hot,  or  a 
cigar,  if  he  was  cold,  or  a  cab,  if  he  felt  weary ;  and  these 
little  luxuries,  to  which  there  can  surely  be  no  objection 
to  anv  man's  indulging  in  upon  any  one  day,  cost 
annually,  (for  he  had  once  the  fancy  to  keep  an  account 
of  them  for  a  whole  year)  exactly  £,l\b  14.s.  Id. 

It  will  perhaps  be  remarked  that  this  must  have  made 
a  large  hole  in  the  young  man's  allowance,  and  have 
reduced  the  rest  of  his  income  to  within  very  narrow 
bounds ;  and  so  it  did  :  yet  what  remained  was  quite 
sufficient  for  him,  since  he  did  not  fritter  any  of  it  away 
in  paying  the  bills  of  tailors,  shoemakers,  and  the  like, 
which  were  permitted  to  ^'  run  on,"  in  accordance  with 
their  respective  wishes.  Human  life  has  never,  that  I  am 
aware  of,  been  apportioned  into  such  epochs,  but  it  might 
very  well  be  divided  into,  first,  the  period  at  which  every- 
thing is  paid  for  one ;  secondly,  the  reason  when  some 
thintrs  are  paid  for  one,  and  not  others ;  thirdly,  that  evil 
stage  of  life  when  we  have  to  pay  for  everything  our- 
selves; and,  finally,  that  terrible  era  when  we  begin  to 
defray  the  charges  of  other  people.  Frederick  had,  of 
course,  reached  the  third  of  these  landings  on  the  mortal 
stairs,  but  it  was  pleasant  to  imagine  that  he  was  yet  upon 
the  flight  below.  The  poetry  of  life  had  received  a  shock 
or  two — he  had  defrayed  liis  own  washing  bills  for 
months — but  it  was  still  fresh  and  vigorous.  The  vulgar 
realities  of  existence  had  not  yet  presented  themselves — 
for  the  paying  of  one's  dinner  at  a  club  or  at  an  hotel  is 
not  like  discharging  a  butcher's  bill  or  a  fish-monger's — 
but  he  had  had  an  indistinct  idea  that  they  were  gather- 
ing about  him.  Still,  when  they  did  come,  was  there  not 
always  a  powerful  Prospero  in  his  father  to  still  the  tumult 
of  such  a  sea  of  troubles  with  one  motion  of  his  friendly 
Avand  ? 

"When  to  the  summer  haze  of  literature  and  social 
enjoyment  which  surrounded  him  was  added  the  dream v 
19 


oOG  MAERIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

love-light  of  the  honeymoon,  things  did  not  wear  a 
mnch  more  practical  shape.  The  young  fellow  was  too 
thoroughly  enchanted  with  his  domestic  fairy,  to  suffer 
Jier  to  play  the  housewife,  although  she  would  very 
willingly  have  done  so.  He  put  off  all  her  questions  as 
to  expenditure  with  jesting  answers ;  and  then  protesting 
(falsely)  that  she  pouted  and  was  very  cross,  he  gave  her 
to  pay  the  bills  with — twenty  kisses.  She  began  to  think 
that  it  was,  perhaps,  only  h^r  inferior  breeding  that  led 
her  to  be  solicitous  about  pecuniary  cares  ;  and  being, 
above  all  things,  desirous  to  make  him  forget  that,  she 
ceased  to  trouble  him  with  such  vulgar  inquiries  as  ''Can 
we  afford  it?  "  or  such  uninteresting  scraps  of  information 
as  that  the  grocer's  young  man  had  "called  again." 
After  all,  there  was  not  much  harm  done,  if  events  had 
taken  the  course  that  v\^as  most  probable ;  filial  confession, 
tender  reconciliation,  payment  in  full  by  cheque,  was  the 
comfortable  programme  that  Frederick  had  sketched 
out  for  themselves  in  his  own  mind;  and  now,  alas! 
all  upon  a  sudden,  Prosper©  lies  dead,  and  his  wand 
has  been  taken  fraudulent  possession  of  by  cruel  uncle 
Caliban. 

Doubtless,  the  remembrance  of  many  an  unpaid  bill 
— the  existence  of  which  had  never  hitherto  troubled 
him — had  risen  up  before  poor  Frederick's  vision  in  that 
hour  of  quarrel  with  the  curate,  and  stung  him  into 
bitterness  and  insult,  when  patience  and  gentle  words 
mio-ht  have  healed  all. 


SOMEBODY     COMING.  307 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 

SOMEBODY   COMING. 

MARY,  of  course,  had  heard  bv  letter  from  her 
husband  concerning  the  death  of  Dr.  Galton, 
and  it  had  distressed  her  very  much.  She  had  never 
received  anything  but  kindness  at  the  hands  of  that 
worthy  and  gentle  man. 

It  was  doubtless  a  relief  to  her  that  that  disclosure 
concerning  the  marriage,  which  had  hung  over  her  in  a 
more  menacing  shape  than  it  had  appeared  to  Frederick, 
who  was  assured  beforehand  of  the  paternal  forgiveness, 
would  now  be  no  longer  necessary.  People  miglit  hence- 
forth knov\-  of  it  at  Casterton  and  Oldborough,  as  some 
already  knew  in  London.  Still  her  loving  heart  was 
grieved,  and  she  reproached  herself  with  having  had  a 
share,  however  innocent,  in  keeping  the  old  man  asunder 
from  his  son  in  his  last  days. 

Frederick  had  arrived  by  an  earlier  train  th.an  he  had 
calculated  upon,  and,  letting  himself  in  by  a  latch-key, 
had  come  upon  her  unawares  at  home.  She  was  in  deep 
mourning,  which  admirably  set  off  her  delicate  beauty, 
and  her  face  was  pale  and  sad  as  a  drooping  lily.  She 
was  plying  her  needle  busily  by  lamplight,  but  every 
now  and  then  she  looked  up  from  her  work  to  a  little 
portrait  of  her  husband  which  she  had  set  upright  on. 
the  table  before  her.  Its  original  stood  behind  her 
before  she  had  time  to  put  it  aside,  which  was,  perhaps, 
why  she  blushed  so  as  she  gave  that  little  cry  of  loving 
welcome.  Her  simple  joy  at  seeing  him  gladdened 
Frederick  to  the  core ;  the  possession  of  the  devoted 
love  of  this  beautiful  and  tender-hearted  girl  might 
surely  console  him  for  the  loss  of  many  things.  Wiser 
men  than  he  had  not  only  risked  but  incurred  certain 
ruin  for  a  less  priceless  pearl  of  womankind  ;  and  was 


'CAJ6  31  A  R  E  I  E  D     B  E  2s'  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

he  to  repine  because  this  had  cost  him  a  few  hundreds  a 
year? 

"My  darling,  darling  wife,  you  are  now  all  in  all  to 
me,"  cried  he,  in  a  rapture. 

"All  in  all  to  him,"  murmured  she,  like  the  cooing  of 
a  dove  as  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  Such  are  golden 
words,  stereotyped  instantly  upon  the  tablet  of  a  woman'.; 
heart;  and  not  to  be  erased  by  any  wrong  that  the 
speaker  may  subsec[ueutly  do  unto  her,  nay,  nor  even  by 
the  long  corrosion  of  ne^^lect. 

"Yes,  Mary,  we  two  are  alone  in  the  world  now — 
quite  alone." 

"  I  know,  I  know,  love,"  answered  she,  plaintively. 
"  How  I  wish,  ah !  how  I  wish  we  had  told  him — " 
Here  she  stopped,  for  it  was  Frederick  himself  who  had 
been  always  for  procrastination  with  respect  to  acknowl- 
edging his  marriage. 

He  answered  a  little  dryly.  "That  cannot  be  helped 
now,  Mary,  though  it  was  unfortunate — I  cannot  say 
how  unfortunate.  It  was  not  of  my  father's  death  that  I 
spoke  when  I  said  we  two  Avere  alone  in  the  world.  I 
might  have  almost  said  we  were  alone  against  the 
world." 

^■^  Oh,  Frederick,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Are  they  all 
so  angry  then — so  very,  very  much  ashamed  of  me?" 

Ashamed  of  her  I  If  any  man  could  have  looked  un- 
moved upon  that  face,  turned  passionately  upwards 
towards  his  own.  and  pleading  with  all  the  eloquence  of 
youth  and  loveliness  against  the  stern  decrees  of  etiquette, 
it  was  certainly  not  Frederick  Galton.  Ashamed  of 
her  I  Xo,  let  the  painted  old  hag  Society  shake  her 
palsied  head  at  him  till  the  feathers  came  out  of  her  wig  I 
Ashamed  of  her  I  no,  he  was  proud  to  call  her -wife. 

"The  opinion  of  the  Downshire  folks,  my  darling, 
concerning  our  marriage,  has  not  been  officially  conveyed 
to  me;  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  care  three 
farthings  about  it :  but  my  uncle  Morrit  is  very  wroth." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  does  not  like  me  at  all,"  said  Mary, 


SOMEBODY     COMING.  309 

dropping  a  tear  or  two.  ^^  He  was  very  hard  to  us  at 
Oldborough.  But  surely  your  poor  fatlier's  death  has 
softened  him.     Dear,  dear  me,  and  a  minister  too  I  ^' 

^'  Yes,  Mary,  he  has  always  had  the  will  to  do  us 
mischief,  and  now  he  has  the  power.  My  father  has 
most  unfortunately  left  me  dependent  on  him  until  I  am 
twenty-five.  He  refuses  to  allow  me  a  shilling  more 
than  I  have  alreadv.  He  will  not  pav  one  of  our 
debts." 

Mary  Galton  sank  into  a  chair,  and  covered  her  face 
W'ith  her  hands. 

"Come,  darling,  don^t  give  way  like  that.  We  are 
not  so  poor  that  we  shall  starve.  You  will  have  to  put 
into  practice  all  those  little  economies  which  you  used  to 
be  so  inclined  for ;  that  is  all.  Why,  I  thought  you  had 
a  brave  heart." 

And  Mary  Galton  had  a  brave  heart ;  never  beat  a 
braver  one  beneath  woman's  breast — and  women  in  cases 
of  this  sort  are  braver  than  men.  She  was  not  afraid 
for  herself  She  would  rather,  as  far  as*,  she  was  con- 
cerned, that  they  were  both  j^oorer  "folks  than  they  were 
even  now  like  to  be;  that  they  lived  together  in  some 
humble  cottage  like  the  Limes,  where  she  might  earn 
something  towards  the  common  maintenance.  But 
Frederick,  being  of  the  male  sex,  imagined  she  was 
weeping  upon  her  own  account. 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  my  pet ;  things  may  not  turn  out 
so  bad  as  they  look  at  present,"  said  he.  "  I  flatter  my- 
self that  a  day  will  come  when  my  pen  will  win  for  my 
wife  all  that  is  necessary  for  her,  without  the  aid  of  any 
man." 

"Oh,  Frederick,  I  was  not  thinking  of  that,"  cried 
she,  passionately.  "  AVhat  does  it  matter  though  I  were 
poor,  and  badly  lodged,  and  coarsely  fed,  and  clothed 
quite  otherwise  than  in  things  like  these !  I  am  used  to 
poverty  ;  it  is  my  natural  condition  ;  and  I  ought  to 
have  remained  in  that  state  of  life  to  which  God  called 
me.     I  have  dragged  you  down  to  mj  own  level." 


;310  MARRIED      B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HIM. 

She  rocked  herself  pitifully  to  and  fro ;  and  when  her 
husband  laid  his  hand  upon  her,  soothingly,  she  shrank 
from  his  touch. 

"  I  deserve  no  love/'  moaned  she  ;  "  a  good  girl  would 
not  have  acted  as  I  have  done.  Jane  thought  so,  and  so 
did  mother  too,  I  know/' 

^'  Marv,  darling — my  own  dear  wife,   ])ray,  ]^ray  Ije 


cairn.  There  is  nothing  done  tliat  I  vrould  wish  undone 
— nothing." 

^''  Yes,  yes,''  rejoined  the  young  girl,  shaking  her  head 
so  vehemently  that  her  hair  broke  from  its  silken  bonds, 
and  decked  her  shoulders  and  neck  and  bosom  with  a 
thousand  golden  links — -''  there  is  much  done,  and 
grievous  harm.  I  have  conic  between  you  and  those 
who  love  you.  I  have  separated  you  from  your  equals 
and  your  friends.  Oh,  Avliy  was  I  ever  born  to  work 
such  woe ! " 

"Then  do  you  regret  that  you  have  married  me, 
Mary  ?     Do  you  wish  to  leave  me  ?  " 

'^  i  wish  to  die ! "  interrupted  she,  with  a  passionate 
cry,  "but  not  to  leave  you.  If  I  could  not  do  that 
months  and  montlis  ago,  having  only  seen  you;  and 
heard  you  speak,  how  can  I  do  so  now  ? ''  She  raised 
her  tearfid  face,  and  looked  up  into  his,  as  though  to 
seek  excuse  or  mitigation,  and  her  lips  moved  in  devotion, 
like  those  of  some  innocent  penitent,  who,  at  the  shrine 
of  her  patron  saint,  accuses  herself  of  some  peccadillo 
which  she  calls  crime. 

"  But,  my  own  darling,"  reasoned  Frederick,  inter- 
rupting with  a  kiss  a  large  round  tear  which  was  about 
to  flood  a  dimple,  "since  you  can't  make  up  your  mind 
to  leave  me,  and  since  I  would  not  exchange  you  for  a 
cargo  of  princesses,  if  you  could,  why  should  we  make 
our  lovely  cheeks  into  vratercourses  all  about  nothing? 
Upon  my  word,  it  is  not  complimentary  to  my  talents  to 
conclude  that  they  will  not  save  us  from  ruin,  far  less  be 
a  sufficient  support  for  you  and  me." 

"  For  me,  Frederick,  yes^  or  even  for  yoUj  ciJone,    But 


SOMEBODY     C  O  M  I  X  G .  311 

for  me,  you  would  have  gained  fortune,  fame,  position, 
and  a  wife  in  every  way  more  worthy  of  you — except 
that  she  could  not  love  you  more  than  I  do.  I  feel,-  ah, 
me  I  like  some  selfish  wretch,  wdio,  drowning  in  the  river 
of  life,  have  cast  *ray  arms  round  your  neck  only  that  we 
may  drown  together." 

*'And  a  very  pleasant  way  of  getting  out  of  the  world, 
too,"  replied  Frederick,  gayly.  ''  Too  much  Malmsey  was 
nothing  to  it.  Put  your  arms  round  it  now,  my  pretty 
one.  Xo,  Mary,  you  are  no  millstone ;  you  will  sustain 
me  rather  in  the  troubled  waters  of  life.  It  is  good  for 
a  man  to  have  some  one  to  live  for,  some  one  to  work 
for,  some  one  to  love,  besides  himself  If  he  can  keep 
himself,  he  can  keep  a  wife ;  what  is  enough  for  one,  is 
enough  for  two. 

" '  Look  through  mine  eyes  with  thine.     True  wife, 
Eound  my  true  heart  thine  arms  entwine ; 
My  other  dearer  life  in  life, 

Look  through  my  very  soul  with  thine!'"' 

But  Marv's  eyes  were  downcast,  and  their  gaze  was 
fixed  upon  the  work  she  had  hastily  thrown  aside  when 
her  husband  came  in.  ^^AVhat!  you  like  hemming  and 
sewing  better  than  me,  you  puss,  do  you?"  continued 
he,  lovinglv;  "or  are  you  thinking  of  helping  to  sup- 
port the  establisliment  by  taking  in  needlework?  AVhat 
is  all  this  bordering  and  lace-work?  What  queer  little 
garments  !  Is  it  dolls'  clothing  for  a  charitable  fancy  fair, 
you  benevolent  fairy?" 

"  Xo,-  Frederick,  dear,  dear  husband,  it  is  not  dolls' 
clothing ;  it  is —  AVhat  is  enough  for  one,  is  enough 
for  two;  but  will  it  be  enough  for  three f^^ 

"Oh,  there's  Somebody  coming,  is  there?"  returned 
Frederick,  ruefully. 

"  I  think— I  am  afraid  there  is,"  murmured  the  young 
wife.  "  How  happy  and  thankful  I  was  about  it  an 
hour  ago  !  but  now —  Oh,  husband,  husband  dear,  what 
sWMvedo?" 


312  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

"Christen  it,  I  suppose,  wlien  the  time  comes,  my 
clear,  as  likewise  get  it  vaccinated,'^  observed  Frederick, 
comically.  "  In  the  meantime,  it's  no  use  anticipating 
the  washer\Yoman  by  crying  over  its  things."  He  stooped 
and  touched  her  forehead  with  his  Hps,  and  spoke  as 
gayly  as  he  could,  for  he  knew  that  she  needed  comfort ; 
but  he  was  very  far  from  gratified  by  the  news.  "  Some- 
body coming,  is  there?"  repeated  lie,  thoughtfully. 
"  AVell,  well,  so  be  it.  But  don't  '  take  on  so,'  Mary, 
darling,  as  Mrs.  Hartopp  used  to  say,  just  because  I 
can't  say:  ^AYelcome,  little  stranger' — like  a  lace  pin- 
cushion." 


CHAPTEE    XXXIII. 

NOT   A    HAPPY    FAMILY. 

SOME  time  has  elapsed  since  the  period  of  the  last 
chapter,  which,  however,  can  scarcely  be  reckoned 
by  years.  But  what  does  it  matter  ?  Human  life  is  like 
an  Alpenstock,  the  length  of  which  is  as  nothing  to  its 
proprietor,  compared  with  its  notches,  each  the  record 
of  some  remarkable  event.  For  who  but  one  who  has 
vegetated  rather  than  lived,  cares  for  the  date  upon 
which  this  and  that  may  have  occurred  to  him?  "It 
was  in  '34 — no,  let  me  see;  yes,  it  must  have  been  in 
'34,  or  was  it  in '35?"  etc.  Who  cares?  Man  grows 
old,  ay,  and  young,  too,  in  a  day ;  and  the  London  street 
child,  who  dies  so  early,  lives  a  longer  life — with  all  re- 
spect to  the  calendar — than  the  gray-haired  sire  of  the 
village.  Since  the  actors  in  life's  drama,  rapt  in  the 
event,  are  themselves  so  careless  of  the  epoch,  how  strange 
it  seems  that  we,  the  spectators,  should  be  so  solicitous 
about  the  matter  I  If  I  err  in  time,  however,  by  a  month 
or  two,  let  me  at  least  be  particular  about  the  place. 


KOT     A     HAPPY      FAMILY.  313 

ScenCy  a  little  bouse,  frightfully  dear,  abutting  on 
Park  Lane;  hour,  early  morning,  or,  in  otb.er  words, 
10.30 ;  dramatis  persona,  a  girl  witb  all  about  her  that 
youth,  and  beauty,  and  wealth  can  give,  and  yet  who  is 
evidently  not  happy.  It  is  not  the  pale  cast  of  thought 
alone  (although  hers  is  a  very  thoughtful  face)  which, 
reversing  Pygmalion's  miracle,  makes  alabaster  of  that 
noble  brow.  If  her  figure  were  not  so  admirably  pro- 
portioned, showing  no  trace  of  the  ravage  of  sickness, 
one  would  say  she  had  been  suifering  for  years  from 
physical  pain.  Pier  features  have  that  concentrated  calm 
about  them,  which  is  not  resignation,  although  it  shows 
the  determination  to  bear.  Her  morning  attire  is  fault- 
less; but  the  knowledge  of  that  fact  should  not  have 
prevented  one  so  fair  and  young  from  glancing  at  the 
mirror,  before  seating  herself  at  the  breakfast-table  alone. 
She  does  not  glance  therein,  however,  although  there  are 
many  mirrors.  The  one  above  the  lace-hung  mantle- 
piece  reflects  four  others,  so  that  it  is  difficult  to  tell 
what  is  space  and  what  is  only  mirage  in  that  splendid 
room ;  moreover,  at  the  west  end  of  the  room,  over  the 
fireplace,  there  is  quite  an  optical  delusion  in  a  framed 
and  gilded  piece  of  plate-glass,  yet  no  mirror,  which 
looks  out  into  a  flower-filled  conservatory,  and  so  through 
open  windows  (for  it  is  suuuner-time)  into  the  park.  It 
is  altogether  as  fair  an  indoor  scene  as  ^^ealth  has  ever 
bidden  his  servants,  Fancy  and  Good  Taste,  to  conjure 
up.  One  would  have  thought  it  almost  happiness  to  sink 
upon  the  yielding  damask  of  that  gilded  chair,  and  take 
in  such  light  and  color  with  half-shut  eyes — to  let  the 
scented  coolness  of  the  place  breathe  over  one  until  the 
senses  slid  to  fairyland.  But  she  who  yonder  sits,  with 
her  sweet  chin  sunk  in  her  white  hand,  takes  nothing 
of  these  seeming  beauties  in  :  if  that  rare  boudoir  had 
suffered  sudden  change,  and  noiselessly  become  a  dining- 
room  in  Baker  street,  she  would  scarcely  have  noticed 
the  transformation.  If,  for  the  pink  egg-shell  china  of 
the  breakfast  service,  had  been  substituted  delf,  it  would 


314  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

have  been  all  the  same  to  her.  When  the  children  of 
earth  are  sick  at  heart,  no  toys  can  gladden  them,  bought 
at  whatever  price. 

There  were  letters  lying  at  her  dimpled  elbow,  and 
she  had  given  them  one  indifferent  glance  as  she  came 
in ;  but  there  they  lay  unopened,  perfumed,  delicate. 
Dainties  of  all  kinds  wooed  her  palate ;  hot  meats  which 
preserved  their  heat  in  silver  dishes,  fed  by  crocus  flames; 
fruits  decked  with  flowers  ;  conserves  as  fair  to  sight  as 
taste;  but  she  touched  none  of  them.  She  looked  out 
on  some  vanished  past  with  tearless  eyes,  and  fed  on  that. 
Presently  a  heavy  step  sounded  even  on  the  well-carpeted 
stairs  without ;  a  gruff  voice,  muttering  some  ribald  tune, 
made  itself  heard  through  the  close-shutting  cpiilted 
doors.  Then  the  fair  face  grew  sterner,  colder ;  but  the 
eyes  were  no  longer  vacant ;  they  saw  (it  was  plain)  the 
man  that  was  coming  even  before  he  came.  Xo  wonder 
they  gave  forth  no  smile  of  welcome.  Youth  was  the 
sole  outward  advantage  that  the  new-comer  possessed, 
and  even  its  fair  impress  was  defaced  and  blurred.  His 
eyes  were  red,  his  cheeks  were  bloated,  his  voice  had  the 
roughness  which  results  from  continual  indulgence  in 
strong  drinks. 

"  Vrhy,  in  the  name  of  all  the  devils,  is  there  no  iced 
soda-water?''  cried  he,  looking  round  him  savagely. 

The  woman  did  not  speak,  but  motioned  towards  a 
silver  table-bell.  He  shook  it  passionately,  as  a  dog 
shakes  some  object  it  does  not  understand. 

^^  That  is  not  the  way,"  cried  she,  quietly  ;  "  touch  the 
spring;  so." 

"  Curse  the  spnng  ! "  returned  the  young  man.  '^  You 
are  always  so  precious  clever,  you  are.  Why  can't  you 
have  bells  like  other  people  ?  I  hate  this  room,  I  tell 
you.  I  can  never  tell  whether  I  am  standing  in  it  upon 
my  head  or  my  heels.  Damme,  it's  always  full  of 
people." 

A  glance  of  ineffable  scorn  passed  over  her  face. 

^^  What  1  I'm  always  drunk,  aqi  I  ?  ancl  that's  why. 


NOT     A     HAPPY     FAMILY.  315 

You  are  much  to  be  pitied,  you  are!  Ah,  yes,  you 
needn't  speak ;  I  know  what  you  are  thinking;  you  are 
thrown  away  upon  rae,  eh  ?  Beautiful  tender  flower, 
onlv  fit  to  be  in  a  hot-house,  this  rough  weather  of  mine 
don't  suit  you.  However,  as  it  is,  you  are  my  wife." 
He  spoke  the  last  words  slowly,  dwelling  upon  them 
with  malignant  pleasure,  like  some  unjust  judge  passing 
sentence  upon  his  private  foe. 

''  Sir,  you  need  not  remind  me,"  returned  the  girl, 
unable  to  restrain  a  shiver  such  as  comes  over  one  at 
recollection  of  some  loathsome  touch  of  crawling  insect 
or  of  trailing  reptile;  "you  are  my  lawful  lord." 

'^But  not  yowv  love,  you  minx,"  returned  the  other, 
swiftly  ;  ''you  dare  to  tell  me  that?" 

The  faithful  mirrors  flashed  the  news  about  that  here 
he  shook  his  fist  in  her  white  face.  "Do  you  know  why 
I  do  not  strike  you,  madam?"  he  muttered  between  his 
teeth. 

" Xo,"  said  she,  with  calm  contempt ;  "as  I  live,  I 
cannot  tell." 

"  Because  it  would  spoil  your  face — my  fine  French 
lady's  face,  for  which  I  have  paid  so  much.  I  would  not 
break  this  egg-cup,  for  the  same  reason." 

He  took  the  thing  he  spoke  of  in  his  hand — a  tree  of 
rarest  china,  with  a  boy  climbing  up  it  in  search  of  eggs, 
and  placing  his  hancl  vsithin  a  bird's  nest,  which  was  the 
cup  itself. 

"By  Heaven!  what  have  I  not  paid?  AVhy,  you 
jade,  I  might  liave  bought  two  as  fair  as  you  for  half  the 
monev ;  and  yet,  I'll  wager  you  are  not  grateful.  Your 
father,  too—'' 

"  John  Meyrick  !  "  cried  the  girl,  rising  sudden  as  a 
ghost,  and  confronting  her  husband  face  to  face — so  near, 
that  her  breath  stirred  his  brown  hair  while  she  was 
speaking — "ill-use  rae  as  you  will;  call  me  bad  names; 
curse,  strike  me — and  if  youj=trike  me  dead,  I'll  thank 
you  for  it.  But  spare  my  father.  Even  you,  I  think, 
iiave  a  fondness  fo^^  vour  mother.     AVell,  he  is  father  and 


316  :>rAEEIED     bexeath     eiim. 

raotliei-j  and  all  to  me^  and  T  have  no  other  friend  in  the 
whole  world  ! " 

He  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two,  admiringly,  like  one 
who  regards  a  picture  lately  purchased,  and  although  by 
no  means  at  a  bargain,  yet  which  is  worth  all  the  money. 
^' Xow,  I  like  you  so,"  said  he;  "I  mean  your  face. 
When  you  have  got  your  airs  on,  it  doesn't  suit  me ;  but, 
just  as  now,  submissive  and  asking  favors  (which  I  don't 
mean  to  grant),  then  it  really  pleases  me.  This  spend- 
thrift father  of  yours — there,  it's  not  worth  a  shilling 
now- — is,  I  was  about  to  observe,  as  rapacious  as  any 
pike.  Although  he  has  persuaded  the  governor  to  come 
down  uncommon  handsome,  yet  I  protest  I  have  no 
money  to  spend ;  all  goes  in  gimcracks,  like  these  of  his 
own  choosing.  It  is  a  very  fine  thing  to  have  taste — 
but  to  gratify  it  at  other  people's  expense,  that  is  the  act 
of  a — AVhat  do  you  call  him  in  your  country,  madam? 
AVe  call  him  here  a  swindler.  Why  do  I  let  him  furnish 
my  house,  invite  his  own  friends,  give  entertainments  at 
mv  expense  ?  Ain't  I  the  most  good-natured  man  in  the 
world  ?     AVhy,  I  say—" 

There  was  a  noise  at  the  handle  of  the  door.  It  did 
not  open  softly  and  quickly  as  usual.  Before  it  did  so, 
the  girl  Avas  seated  quietly  at  the  breakfast-table,  pouring 
out  tea,  and  her  husband  had  snatched  up  the  newspaper. 

"My  dear  Eugenie,"  exclaimed  the  new-comer,  gayly, 
"you  must  forgive  this  wicked  old  father,  who  is  late 
again.  It  is  said  that  all  aged  persons  are  prone  to  rise 
early,  in  order  to  get  as  mucli  out  of  life  as  possible;  but 
if  so,  ma  foi,  I  must  still  be  young !  As  for  you  two, 
you  are  mere  children — babies.  What  a  charming  Eng- 
lish picture  is  here  !  The  wife  employed  in  her  domestic 
duties;  the  husband  reading — what  do  you  call  it — the 
City  article?" 

"And  cursedly  stupid,  too,"  responded  the  young  man, 
gruffly. 

"Of  course,  it  is  stupid,  my  dear  John — how  well  you 
look,  by-the-by ;  I  suppose   your  hair   curls  naturally. 


NOT      A      HAPPY      F  A  M  I  L  Y.  -il  V 

like  my  \yig — but  then  it  is  so  excessively  rich.  You 
caiiiK»t  expect  everything.  I  feel  getting  stupid  myself, 
livino-  in  such  exceedinp^ly  line  clover  here;  thanks  to 
you,  my  young  triend. 

^'  It  'costs  a  pretty  penny,  sir/'  observed  the  other, 
coarsely. 

'•Ah,  I  like  that  expression— a  pretty  penny  !  The 
endeavor  to  lighten  the  prosaic  dulness  that  clings  to  all 
current  coin  by  such  a  form  of  words  is  really  estimable. 
Yes,  your  father  writes  that  he  thinks  we  have  been 
a  little  extravagant;  but  very  wisely  adds:  ^I  have 
every  confidence,  however,  that  the  money  has  been  well 
spent.'  He  is  pleased  to  think  that  his  son  is  in  the  best 
society  that  London  has  to  offer;  that  nothing  vulgar, 
not  to  say  low  or  contaminating,  is  mixed  up  with  his 
life.  My  dearest  John,  is  it  possible  that  you  are  taking 
brandy  in  your  tea?" 

"  Well,  a  fellow  must  have  something,  sir.  I  feel  a 
cup  too  low  this  morning.  The  fact  is  we  kept  it  up 
till  rather  late  last  night — I  and  some— some  university 
men." 

"As  I  saw  them  from  my  window,  they  did  not^  look 
like  university  men,"  returned  M.  de  Lernay,  quietly ; 
"but  perhaps  that  was  because  they  were  disguised  in 
liquor.  Seriouslv,  John,  I  don't  think  your  father  would 
be  pleased  if  he  knew  that  this  sort  of  thing  was  going  on. 
He  relies  upon  Eugenie  and  me  to  make  you  a  good  boy. 
AVe  have  taken  you  in  hand,  we  two  benevolent  mis- 
sionaries; we  are  civilizing,  I  do  not  say  the  noble  sav- 
age, because  that  would  be  "rude,  but  one  whose  education 
has  been  somewhat  neglected  and  certainly  cut  short. 
You  know  what  your  father  said  when  you  had  to  leave 
college  in  that  sudden  manner?" 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  muttered  the  young  man.  "  What  is 
it  you  want  now?" 

"Xothing,  nothing,"  returned  the  count  with  spright- 
liness,  helpi'ng  himself  to  caviare;  "only  let  us  be  duti- 
ful, and    cultivate  good  society.     I   was  thinking,   last 


318  MARRIED     BENEATH      HI  M . 

night,  liow  admirably  the  drawing-rooms  in  this  pleasant 
ho^ise  of  yours  are  adapted  for  charades." 

"What's  that?*'  inquired  Mr.  John  Meyrick,  sulkily. 

'•  He  doesn't  know  what  charades  are  !"  exciahued  the 
count,  regarding  his  son-in-law  with  the  horror  of  a  con- 
scientious magistrate,  before  whom  is  brought  a  witness 
who  does  not  understand  the  nature  of  an  oatli. 

'-^  Have  what  you  like,  then  I"  roared  the  young  man, 
savagely.  "  Whatever  it  is,  it  can't  be  worse  than  the 
other  tomfooleries.     I  hate  'em  all,  for  my  part." 

'^  Tlien  you  vrouldn't  like  to  take  any  other  rule,  I  con- 
clude, my*  dear  John ;  otherwise  we  should  be  glad  of 
your  services.  I  don't  know  anybody  who  would  shine 
better  in  an  unconcerted  piece,  like  Valentine  and  Orson, 
for  instance." 

''  Don't  make  a  fool  of  me  I "  growled  Mr.  John  Mey- 
rick.     ^'  I  don't  believe  you." 

He  scowled  under  his  knitted  brows  at  Eugenie,  as 
though  he  would  say :  "You  shall  pay  for  this,  madam." 

"  Or  shall  we  have  something  out  of  your  Shakspeare  ?  " 
pursued  the  old  man,  musing.  "  You,  of  coui-se,  like  all 
Englishmen,  adore  him.  What  say  you  to  that  scene  from 
the^ Jlerchant  of  Venice  /  Come,  you  know  something  of 
the  Jews,  John ;  do  you  not  think  I  should  make  an  ex- 
cellent Shylock?" 

Xo  mail  ever  looked  or  spoke  less  like  a  Jew  than 
M.  de  Lernay,  yet  he  believed  what  he  said.  He  had 
an  overweening  confidence  in  the  versatility  of  his 
own  genius;  and  he  had  his  countrymen's  hunger  for 
praise. 

'^Come,"  reiterated  he,  ^'should  I  not  make  a  good 
Jew?" 

''Av,"  returned  the  young  man  with  a  sneer,  '^you 
would  do  that." 

"  Then  there  is  Portia,"  resumed  the  Frenchman,  airily. 
'^Will  my  beloved  Eugenie  play  that  part,  making  a 
lawver's  wig  and  gown  the  most  becoming  of  all  possible 
garments?" 


NOT     A      HAPPY     FAMILY.  319 

"  I  shall  have  actiug  enough  to  do,  papa,  without  that," 
replied  his  daughter,  wearily. 

'^  That  is  true,  love.  You  will  play  the  hostess,  always 
a  weighty  task  ;  and  yet  you  wear  it  like  a  lily.  I  think 
Mrs.  Meredith  shall  be  Portia.  Yes ;  she  has  unexcep- 
tionable ankles,  and  her  hair  is  not  too  massy  for  the  wig." 

"  That  will  never  do,  papa." 

"Yes,  it  will  do,"  cried  Mr.  John  Meyrick,  with  some 
enthusiasm.     ''  If  that's  charades,  then  I  like  them." 

''  AVe  are  in  the  hands  of  the  lady  of  the  house,"  ob- 
served M.  de  Lernay,  calmly.  ''  AVhen  she  says  '  No,' 
that  is  sufficient  for  all  gentlemen.  I  tell  you — if  there 
is  a  difficulty  about  getting  a  lady  actor — who  would 
make  up  a  capital  Portia — Frederick  Gal  ton." 

Mr.  John  ]\Ieyrick  leaped  from  his  chair,  with  an  exe- 
cration, and  slapped  the  table  with  his  open  hand,  so  that 
the  eggshell  china  danced  and  danced  again. 

"  You  seem  very  pleased,"  observed  M.  de  Lernay, 
quietly.  ''But  you  frighten  your  wife,  sir,  by  being 
so  vehement.  See,  she  has  turned  quite  pale.  Sit  down, 
I  say." 

When  a  person  of  usually  polite  manners  utters  words 
such  as  the  last  four,  in  the  tone  in  which  a  sportsman 
exclaims:  "Down  charge!"  to  his  refractory  pointer, 
they  mean  something  more  than  they  express.  In  the 
present  case,  they  meant :  "  You  vile  young  cub !  *Do  you 
dare  to  put  vourself  in  a  passion  with  me,  who  have  got 
the  whip-hand  of  you  in  every  way ;  who  can  tell  worse 
things  of  you  than  are  already  known,  and  upon  whose 
report  of  your  behavior  hangs  much  of  your  future  for- 
tune, and  all  vour  prospects  of  ready  money?" 

Mr.  John  Meyrick  sat  down  accordingly,  muttering  to 
himself  a  striug*^of  terrible  expletives,  but  with  the  sub- 
dued air  of  a  repentant  sinner  telling  his  beads. 

"'Yes,  we  will  have  Galton,"  pursued  the  Frenchman, 
reflectively.  "  The  Ackerses  are  out  of  town,  so  he  can 
come  without  the  chance  of  anything  unpleasant;  although 
why  they  should  have  cut  him,  I  can't  imagine." 


320  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

"Married  their  maid-servant/^  grunted  Mr.  John 
Meyrick. 

"  Well,  and  what  then?  There  was  a  rival  the  less 
for  Sir  Geoffrey  and  for  all  other  marrying  young  men. 
You  sneer ;  that  is  because  you  are  a  fool,  my  dear  young 
friend.  Mr.  Frederick  Galton,  without  rank,  without 
fortune,  without  birth,  was  only,  as  your  Wilkes  has 
said,  half  an  hour  or  so  behind  the  very  best  of  them. 
He  has  grace,  beauty,  and  wit;  and,  ah,  he  has  youth, 
youth,  youth  !'^ 

The  old  man  dropped  his  voice ;  and  playing  softly 
upon  the  table  with  his  fingers,  hummed  the  first  verse 
of  a  love-song. 

"They  say  he  beats  his  wife,"  observed  the  young 
man,  maliciously. 

"  They  say  what  is  not  true,  then,"  exclaimed  Eugenie, 
helping  herself  to  coffee,  with  an  unsteady  hand. 

"And  how  the  devil  should  you  know  that  it  is  not 
true?"  retorted  her  husband,  furiously. 

"  Because  Frederick  Galton  is  a  gentleman,"  observed 
M.  de  Lernay,  sternly ;  "  and  gentlemen  neither  beat  their 
wives  nor  swear  at  them."     -^ 

"You  should  hear  Potts  talk  about  it,  then — that 
literary  fellow,"  continued  John  Meyrick,  doggedly. 

"Ay,  Potts  shall  be  the  Duke,"  mused  the  Frenchman  ; 
"  he  is  .pompous  enough  for  anything ;  and  his  friend, 
Jonathan  Johnson,  shall  be  Antonio." 

"Ay,  Jonathan  Johnson,  too,  was  telling  the  other 
day  how  Galton  was  going  to  the  dogs,"  continued 
Meyrick. 

"A  poor  marriage  always  turns  out  unfortunately," 
remarked  M.  de  Lernay,  with  a  half-glance  at  his 
daughter. 

Eugenie  smiled  wearily,  then  sighed. 

"  But  Johnson  says  that  even  the  girl  has  not  bettered 
herself  by  becoming  Mrs.  Frederick.  None  of  her  own 
sex  will  visit  her,  of  course.  She's  as  poor  as  ever  she 
was,  and  worse^  because  they're  over  head  and  ears  in 


XOT     A      HAPPY     FAMILY.  321 

debt.  And  yet  they  live  at  Somers  Town.  ^  hy,  Potts 
told  us,  you  remember,  sir,  that  they  had  scarcely  enough 
to  eat  at  home,  although  Galton  himself  is  still  pretty  wel- 
come everywhere.     I  should  think  Mary  Perling — " 

M.  de  Lernay  was  taken  with  so  violent  a  fit  of  sneezing 
that  the  end  of  the  sentence  was  inaudible. 

"  I  never  knew  any  mixture  do  that  before,^'  remarked 
the  Frenchman,  tapping  his  snufp-box.  "  Will  my  dar- 
ling Eugenie  walk  with  her  father  in  the  park  this  morn- 
ing, before  the  heat  comes  on  ?  " 

"One  moment,  papa,^^  said  the  young  girl,  Cj[uietly. 
^'  My  husband  was  making  an  observation  which  he  did 
not  complete.     You  were  saying,  sir?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  was  saying,"  returned  Mr. 
John  Meyrick,  yawning.  "  Whatever  it  was,  I  didn't 
say  it  to  you,  Madame  Curiosity.  I  shall  go  in  here,  and 
have  a  cigar." 

With  these  words,  the  young  man  rose,  and  entered 
the  conservatory,  where  he  could  still  be  seen  through 
the  w^indow-mirror,  lolling  among  the  flowers,  and 
smoking. 

'^  Papa,"  said  Eugenie,  looking  at  her  father,  fixedly, 
and  speaking  in  a  low,  earnest  tone,  "  is  it  true,  what  that 
man  said  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  my  love,"  returned  the 
other,  carelessly ;  ''  it  is  perhaps  as  true  as  most  gossip. 
I  dare  say  the  young  fellow  is  tired  of  his  vulgar  toy  liy 
this  time.  They  are  also  in  debt,  I  believe.  I  have  been 
in  debt  myself,  yet  here  I  am,  you  see."  He  look o  I 
around  him  upon  the  world  of  damask  and  gilding,  ai.  ': 
lace  and  crystal,  with  a  triumphant  air. 

"The  name,  the  name?"  repeated  she,  impatiently. 
"  Did  I  hear  that  name  aright  ?  " 

"Yes,"  returned  the  old  man,  harshly.  "I  thought 
you  knew." 

"  You  thought  I  knew  that  Mary  Perling  was  starv- 
ing— his  own  sister,  the  sister  for  whose  sake  he  saved 
ours,  and  I  here  !  " 
20 


322  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

"  My  dear  child^  people  say  '  starving '  in  this  country 
when  they  speak  of  anybody  wlio  has  less  than  five  hun- 
dred a  year,  and  lives  at  Somers  Town/^ 

" '  She  is  as  poor  as  ever  she  was,  and  worse,  because 
they  are  over  head  and  ears  in  debt,^''  repeated  Eugenie; 
" '  they  have  scarcely  enough  to  eat  at  home ' — that  is 
what  he  said." 

"  They  want  money,  of  course,  my  dear ;  everybody 
does,  so  far  as  I  know." 

"  Mary  Perling  wants  it,  and  we  have  it,  papa — is  that 
not  so  ?     This  has  been  kept  from  me  verv  cruelly." 

The  ordinarily  unruffled  brow  of  M.  de  Lernay  grew 
black  with  wrinkles. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  spend  your  husband's  money, 
Eugenie,  in  such  a  fashion." 

^'  What !  papa !  "  Her  dark  eyes  glittered,  l)ut  not 
with  tears,  her  pale  cheeks  burned  with  shame,  but  not 
for  herself  He  rose,  and  stepping  to  the  nearest  looking- 
glass,  attired  his  i)ainted  face  in  smiles  again. 

"  My  love,  that  is  my  own  opinion,  certainly,"  returned 
he,  gayly ;  "  but  I  know  so  little  of  money  matters,  it  is 
quite  possible  that  I  may  be  wrong." 

"  You  are  wrong,  Monsieur  de  Lernay.  Look  yon," 
said  she,  '^if  one  sell's  one's  house,  or  land,  or  jewels  to 
another,  we  do  what  we  like  with  the  proceeds:  and  If 
one  sells  one's  self  ^  (she  touched  the  ring  upon  her  finsrer 
scornfully),  "  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  one  ^nav  not 
spend  the  purchase-money  as  one  will  ?  " 


GATHERED     THREADS.  ^^^ 

CHAPTER    XXXIY. 

GATHERED   THREADS. 

'TT-J'HAT  was  the  precise  nature  of  that  high  crime 
\  V      aud  misdemeanor  for  which  Mr.  John  Meyrick 
had  to  leave  college  suddenly,  there  is  no  need  to  inquire. 
There  are  persons' within  everybody's  circle  of  acquaint- 
ance who  have  had  to  do  the  like,  without  an  explanation 
beino;  offered,  and  I  think  we  take  an  interest  in  them  on 
that^erv  account.     Mystery  lends  its  charm  to  the  most 
commonplace  of  mortals,  and  since  the  young  Squire  has 
but  few  intrinsic  merits  of  his  own,  let  him   have  the 
benefit  of  that.     AVhatever  was  his  error,  we  may  be  sure 
that  it  was  complicated  by  "drink."     He  was  not  the 
man,  as  the  phrase  goes,  to  set  Caui  or  Isis  on  fire,  but 
he  mav  have  attempted,  in  his  cups,  to  set  fire  to  Minmi 
Hall.  "  At  all  events,  that   institution    had    declined  to 
retain  him  any  longer.     He  was  not  privately  withdrawn 
— recommended  change  of  air  by  his  medical  adviser — 
but  downright  expelled.     The  old  Squire  at  Casterton, 
not  a   person   of  delicate  organization,   was    grievously 
shocked.     The    :Mevricks    had    never    been    a   brilliant 
familv  :  but  his  son  and  heir  was  the  first  of.  his  race  who 
had  publiclv  disgraced  himself,  and  given  such  credible 
promise  of  goino'  to  the  dog-s.     When  all  persons  con- 
nected with  thevoimg  man  "were,  as  it  were,  turning  up 
their  coat-sleeves,  v.nh  the  avowed  intention  of  washing 
their  hands  of  him,  M.  de  Lernay  came  forward  in  the 
character  of  guardian  angel.    It  was  terrible  that  the  pros- 
pects of  a  reallv  well-meaning,  though  volatile  young  man 
should  thus  be  blighted  in  the  bud.     There  was  only  one 
way  to  keep  him  oitt  of  bad  company,  for  which  he  had  ex- 
hibited so  overpowering  a  predilection :  he  must  marry  some 
crirl  of  good  connections  at  once,  and  so  be  surrounded  by 
a  riuo'-fence  of  the  best  society  for  the  rest  of  his  existence. 


324  M  A  E  r.  I  E  D      B  E  S  E  A  T  H      H  I  .M  . 

Such  a  sovereign  remedy  was  not,  of  course,  to  be  pro- 
cured except  at  a  great  price.  Miss  de  Lernay,  the  report  of 
whose  attractions  liad  made  Mrs.  Meyrick  rather  uncom- 
fortable at  one  time,  was  now  no  longer  an  ineligible  bride 
for  her  only  son.  The  Squire  bluntly  vowed  that  the  young 
scamp  might  think  himself  lucky  to  get  her.  If  Eugenie 
was  not  enamored  of  this  young  gentleman  just  at  present, 
as  her  father  admitted,  the  dislike  would  doubtless  soon 
wear  oif  (as  love  does  in  unions  of  affection),  and  in  the 
end,  who  knew  but  what  she  might  become  a  happy  wife, 
or,  at  all  events,  attain  the  average  of  married  happiness? 
He  was  well  convinced  tliat  he  was  acting  for  the  best  for 
all  parties,  including,  of  course,  M.  de  Lernay.  And 
were  there  not  disadvantao-es  in  the  arrang-ement  for  him 
also?  Had  he  not  been  immolated  for  a  week  at  the 
Grange  at  Casterton,  whither  he  went  in  person,  at  the 
invitation  of  ^Ir.  Meyrick,  senior?  Was  it  nothing  to 
have  breakfasted  at  half-past  eight  for  six  mornings  run- 
ning and  to  have  gone  to  church  on  the  seventh  ?  AVas 
it  nothing  to  have  endured  two  dinner-parties,  during 
which  the  conversation  was  confined  to  field-sports  and 
agricultural  produce?  Mr.  Morrit  had  been  the  only 
civilized  being  he  had  met  with  in  that  melancholy  exile, 
and  even  he  was  dull.  He  had  been  desolated,  so  it  was 
said,  by  the  undutiful  conduct  of  his  nephew.  It  was  at 
Casterton  that  M.  de  Lernay  learned  for  the  first  time 
the  details  of  that  matter,  and  identified  in  Mrs.  Frederick 
Galton  the  sister  of  the  man  who  had  preserved  his 
dauo-hter  from  shame.  He  decided  that  Euo:enie  should, 
if  possible,  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  this  fact;  any  allusion 
to  that  dreadful  adventure  at  Marseilles  always  gave  her 
pain,  and  it  was  most  foreign  to  his  nature  to  give  pain, 
if  it  could  possibly  be  avoided.  He  was  not  for  his  part 
consumed  with  the  desire  of  making  himself  known  to 
the  family  of  the  late  Mr.  John  Perling;  but  he  had 
misgivings  that  his  daughter  might  wish  to  do  so,  and  it 
was  one's  duty  to  guard  against  an  inconvenient  enthu- 
siasm.    It  was  his  very  reticence  in  this  matter,  perhaps. 


GATHERED     THREADS.  325 

that  pubsequently  excited  her  suspicion?,  and  led  her  to 
guess  all,  as  we  have  seen,  at  the  first  mention  of  Mary 
Perlin^-'s  name.  For  the  rest,  all  liad  gone  well.  Squire 
Mcyrick  had  proved  willing  to  purchase  not  only  a  wife 
for  his  ne'er-do-well  offspring,  but  even  a  noble  father-in- 
law,  and  that  at  his  own  price. 

'^My  money  was  all  meant  for  my  boy,''  said  the  old 
squire,*  with  pathos ;  ^^  and  whether  he  gets  it  now,  or 
after  I  am  gone,  is  little  matter." 

"It  cannot  be  better  spent  than  on  those  who  will 
keep  him  out  of  harm's  way,"  responded  the  Frenchman, 
feelingly.  ''  In  me,  my  dear  sir,  you  are  insuring  for 
your  son  a  passport  to  good  society;  and  every  shilling 
Which  passes  through  my  hands  shall  conduce  to  that 
end." 

So  both  the  village  boys  whom  we  first  met  on  the 
Kound  at  Casterton  had  married  very  young,  yet  neither 
was  trusted  with  his  own  money. 

Beyond  all  question,  Frederick  Galton  had,  for  his 
part,  been  treated  with  great  harshness  in  this  respect. 
His  own  clandestine  conduct  had  caused,  it  is  true,  the 
unfortunate  disposition  of  his  father's  property;  but  it 
was  in  his  uncle's  power  to  have  remedied  that  mistake, 
and  he  ought  to  have  done  so.  There  are  many  honor- 
able men  who  are  capable  of  acting  with  great  injustice 
and  cruelty  when  smarting  under  personal  insult.  The 
verv  uprightness  of  their  own  character  helps  to  steel 
t!ie!n,  and  they  seem  to  themselves  to  be  advocating  the 
cause  of  virtue,  in  avenging  their  peculiar  wrong.  The 
curate  did  not  know  to  what  very  serious  straits  he  was 
reducing  his  nephew,  by  confining  his  income  to  within 
such  narrow  limits;  but  he  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that 
he  was  putting  him  to  great  inconvenience,  and  his  con- 
science pricked  him  upon  that  account.  He  was  obliged 
to  fortify  his  mind  by  quotations  against  the  prodigal, 
and  by  thoughts  upon  the  necessity  of  the  performance 
of  painful  duties.  He  was  also,  I  fear,  considerably 
strengthened  in  his  determination  by  the  reports  which 


o26  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

reached  him  of  the  language  in  which  his  nephew  freely 
indulged  when  speaking  of  the  Rev.  Robert  Morrit. 
Still  his  conscience  pricked  him.  One  day  in  particular, 
after  the  receipt  of  a  letter  fi-om  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson, 
expostulating  w^ith  him  upon  his  harshness  towards  his 
once  so  beloved  young  relative,  he  was  greatly  moved. 

"Do  not  deceive  yourself,"  the  editor  had  frankly 
wa-itten;  "you  are  actuated  in  this  matter  by  malicious 
feelings.  Poverty  is  a  bad  school  for  one  like  Frederick 
Galton ;  if  it  sours  him  with  the  Avorld  you  will  have 
done  a  great  injury  to  a  fellow-creature,  and  even  some, 
perhaps,  to  the  world  itself  I  admire  his  talents  more 
than  ever ;  but  how  is  it  possible  that  they  can  have 
any  lofty  aim  when  it  is  necessary  that  they  should  pur- 
chase daily  broad?  You  are  answerable,  Morrit,  I 
repeat,  for  whatever  liappens;  a  shadowy  menace,  of 
course,  to  one  who  is  a  scoundrel,  but  one  that  should 
make  a  Christian  gentleman  consider  a  little." 

Xot  a  word  had  the  craft}^  editor  written  concerning 
Mrs.  Galton  and  the  child  ;  nothing  to  arouse  the  curate's 
])rejudices,  but  everything  to  awaken  his  sense  of  Justice. 
Mr.  ]Morrit  walked  about  his  parish  Avith  .  his'  hands 
behind  him  all  that  day,  revolving  how  he  could  give 
up  an  obstinate  purpose  without  loss  of  dignity.  And 
yet  he  was  a  kindly  man  by  nature.  It  gave  him 
genuine  pleasure,  for  instance,  that  he  was  on  that  very 
occasion  the  messenger  of  a  great  piece  of  good  news  to 
a  crippled  veteran  of  the  wars,  who  lived  at  the  extremity 
of  Casterton;  a  man  of  honor  like  himself,  and  who  had 
also  suffered  like  him  in  his  domestic  relations.  He  had 
had  an  only  son  transported  for  sheep-stealing  years  ago, 
and  the  disgrace  had  so  wrought  on  him,  that  when  any 
one  touched  upon  the  subject,  ever  so  tenderly,  he  would 
tremble  and  grow  pale,  as  the  pain  of  no  ancient  but  un- 
healed bodily  Avounds  (of  which  he  had  several)  could 
comi)el  to  do.  Xow  the  curate  was  the  bearer  of  an 
epistle  from  this  very  son,  now  a  free  man  in  the  under- 
world, enclosing  a  bank-note  for  fifty  pounds.     "  Please, 


GATHERED     THREADS.  327 

reverend  sir,  persuade  my  dear  old  father  to  accept  it  ^^ — 
so  the  son  had  written — "  for  I  dare  not  send  it  to  him 
direct,  lest  he  should  tear  it  up,  or  burn  it,  without 
remembering  that  I  am  still  his  son,  and  privileged  to 
love  and  serve  him  yet/'  It  was  a  most  affecting  letter, 
and  the  curate  pleaded  the  writer's  cause  with  earnest 
eloquence.  But  the  old  man  would  not  be  convinced. 
He  flattered  himself  that  he  was  performing  an  act  of 
virtue  in  resisting  this  appeal  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood 
to  be  allowed  to  do  him  service. 

"Xo,  sir,"  answered  he;  "yoit  may  send  the  money 
back — to  the  young  man."  (Here  he  gave  a  great  gulp, 
endeavoring  to  swallow  Xature  herself,  which  is  a 
tremendous  feat  before  one  gets  used  to  it.)  ''Tell  him 
I  am  glad  that  he  is  living  a  reformed  life,  and  that  he 
is  sorry  for  what  he  has  done.  But,  sir,  I  am  an  honest 
man  myself;  and  I  have  enough,  although  it  is  but  a 
little,  to  live  upon.  The  country  pays  me  what  it  owes 
me ;  there  is  no  obligation  there ;  and  I  had  rather  not 
be  indebted  to — to — ''  Here  the  old  man  broke  down, 
and  hid  his  face  in  his  thin,  brovrn  fingers  for  a  little. 

'^  You  are  very  proud  and  hard  of  heart,"  said  the 
clergvman.  '^  We  should  forgive  and  forget.  AVho  are 
we,  that  we  should  punish  cur  fellow-creatures,  who 
have  already  paid  the  penalty  for  their  offences  ?  And 
besides,  John,  this  is  your  own  son." 

''Ay,"  said  the  old  man,  "  my  own  blood  :  the  only 
child  of  his  dear  mother." 

"  Think  of  that,  John,  and  forgive  him  :  if  I  have 
ever  done  you  a  good  deed,  think  upon  it,  and  forgive 
him  for  my  sake  :  nay,  John,  if  God  has  been  good  to 
you — and  you  know  how  good  he  has  been — do  this  for 
'His  sake,  for  it  will  be  pleasing  to  Him." 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  kind  priest's  eager  face  as 
he  went  about  his  Master's  work,  and  pleaded  His  good 
cause. 

"  Well,  look  you,  sir,"  returned  the  old  man,  ^'  I 
scarcely   know  what   it   is  right  to  do.     You  are  the 


328  AI  A  R  K  I  E  D     BENEATH     HIM. 

parson,  and  ought  to  know,  that  is  true ;  but  then  talk 
is  one  thing,  and  fight  is  another,  as  Ave  used  to  say  in 
the  army.*' 

^^I  have  no  cant  about  nie,  I  ho])e/'  rejoined  the 
curate,  quietly ;  '■'■  I  have  given  you  what  I  believe  to  be 
good  advice/' 

"Doubtless,  sir;  but  would  you  act  upon  it  yourself? 
Xow,  here  is  your  nephevr,  Mr.  Frederick  Galton,  as 
nice  a  young  gentleman  as  ever  these  eyes  lit  upon,  "who 
had  always  a  kind  word  and  an  open  hand  to  the  poor. 
Many's  the  bit  o'  baccy  I  have  had,  thanks  to  Master 
Frederick ;  and  now,  because  he's  done  wrong,  and 
offended  you,  they  do  say  you  are  very  harsh  to  him, 
and  keep  him  short  in  money  matters.  Of  course  I 
know  nothing  of  the  truth  of  this — it  may  be  so,  or  it 
may  not  be  so — but  I  ask  you  as  a  gentleman  who 
wouldn't  tell  a  lie,  have  yon  forgiven  hhn  yet?  Come, 
tell  me  that." 

"Keally,  John" — began  Mr.  Morrit,  stammering. 

"  Xo,  sir,  that  ain't  the  way,  nor  like  yourself — asking 
your  pardon,  though  we  are  alone  now,  and  God  alone 
sees  us ;  so  there  can  be  no  oifence :  what  I  want  is  a 
plain  ^  Yes '  or  ^  Xo.'  Have  you  forgiven  him,  or  do 
you  mean  to  forgive  him,  and  to  let  him  have  what  he 
wants?  Because  if  you  mean  to  keep  upon  the  same 
terms  as  now,  why,,  then,  I  can't  be  wrong  in  sending 
that  fifty  pounds  back  to  that  young  man  in  Australia, 
with  a  message  that  I  will  have  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  him :  whereas,  if  you  are  really  going  to  make  up 
with  Master  Frederick,  and  pardon  the  poor  young  man, 
who  used  to  be  so  fond  of  his  uncle,  and  never  so  happy 
as  when  he  was — " 

"  John  !  John  !  "  cried  the  curate,  very  hoarsely,  "  say 
no  more ;  you  are  a  good  man,  and  I  thank  you  for  what 
you  have  spoken." 

"  Then  I  may  take  the  fiftv  pounds,  sir,  from  my  poor 
boy?" 

"Yes,  you  may,  John;  you  may  indeed,     O  my  poor 


I>OTTS     PERE.  329. 

Fred!  mv  clear  dead  sister's  son,  ^vliy  liave  we  been 
e?tran2;ed'  so  long?"  The  rare  tears  stood  once  more  in 
the  ciirate's  eves°  as  they  did  in  that  of  the  pensioner. 
There  was  a  double  joy  among  the  angels  in  Heaven  over 
that  simple  scene,  for  the  preacher  had  converted  the 
disciple,  and  the  disciple  the  preacher.  It  is  the  privilege 
of  the  angels  to  rejoice  over  all  repentance ;  we  mortals, 
alas  I  can°only  appreciate  that  which  bears  fruit  in  time, 
^'\greewith  thine  adversarv  quickly  while  thou  art  m 
the  wav  with  him,"  says  the  Scripture ;  then  how  much 
more  should  we  make  peace  with  our  own  familiar 
friend— the  wronger  or  the  wronged,  what  matters?— 
while  opportunity  offers,  and  ere  death  or  worse  inter- 
vene, and  close  the  golden  gates  of  friendship  between 
us,  with  unexpected,  hideous  jar ! 


A^ 


CHAPTER    XXXY. 

POTTS   PEPvE. 

DYERSITY  does  not  ahvays  and  at  once  chasten 
^_L  him  upon  Avhom  it  falls;  the  human  soul  is  stub- 
born, and  requires  blow  after  blow  to  convince  us  of  our 
own  futility ;  just  as  the  gambler  receives  heavy  and  con- 
tinued losses,  before  he  can  make  up  his  mind  that  luck 
is  against  him,  and  that  he  had  better  throw  up  the  cards. 
Like  a  mountain  stream  which  seethes  and  rages  with 
every  cross  and  foil,  is  the  proud  man  growing  poor; 
he  may  sink  at  last  to  some  quiet  level,  out  of  sight  and 
hearing;,  but  in  the  meantime,  the  spectacle  of  his  career 
does  not  make  us  in  love  with  poverty.  How  many  an 
elastic  spirit  has  been  broken  by  the  long,  long  pressure 
of  that  iron  hand  !  How  many  a  genial  nature  has  been 
soured,  overflowed  bv  the   waters   of  bitternes^s  I     It  is 


6'50  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

very  well  to  be  philosophic,  and  better  still  to  have 
Christian  resignation ;  but  to  the  poor  contumacious 
creature  under  Dame  Poverty's  discipline  nothing  seems 
so  good  as  a  five-pound  note — save,  of  course,  a  note  of 
higher  value.  It  is  wonderful  how  soon  that  situation 
which  is  euphoniously  termed  "somewhat  reduced  cir- 
cumstances,'' will  deteriorate,  not  only  a  man's  nature, 
but  his  views  of  human  life.  He  will  not  only  place  a 
Wall  street  value  upon  mere  money,  holding  esteem  and 
friendship,  and  sometimes  even  love,  but  as  so  much 
"  greenbacks,"  but  he  leaps  to  the  conclusion,  that  every- 
body else  is  equally  knowing — he  has  been  a  fool  hitherto 
all  his  life,  it  seems,  and  hoodwinked  by  society,  but  now 
at  least  he  will  let  society  know  that  he  has  found  her  out. 
This  is  in  reality  the  chief  cause  why  we  drop  our  un- 
prosperous  friends.  We  omit  them  from  our  dinner- 
parties, not  (unless  we  are  very,  contemptible,  indeed) 
because  they  can  no  longer  invite  ns  in  return,  but 
because  their  observations  have  become  brusque  and 
cynical.  ^ 

Mr.  Frederick  Galton,  at  present  of  Somers  Town, 
and  late  of  a  number  of  different  places  of  residence, 
further  and  further  removed  from  the  fashionable  neigh- 
borhoods, would  unquestionably  have  been  dropped  by 
his  numerous  circle  of  friends,  but  for  his  exceeding  clev- 
erness. The  genial  charm  o^  manner  which  was  wont  to 
draw  so  many  within  his  influence,  had  fled,  but  it  was 
replaced  by  a  mocking  wit.  He  made  more  enemies 
than  friends  wherever  he  went,  but  he  was  asked  every- 
where. He  sparkled,  and  that  was  sufficient  for  those 
who  invited  him;  but  the  source  whence  the  light  was 
drawn  was  no  longer  the  native  fire  of  youthful  gayety ; 
he  had  now  a  reputation  for  saying  "  wicked  things,"  and 
had  become  a  sudden  convert — the  youngest  ever  known 
— to  the  great  Poohpooh  School,  to  whom -the  whole 
world  of  men  and  women  is  as  an  apple  of  the  Dead  Sea 
shore.  As  a  writer,  he  was  improving  fast  in  style  and 
manner,  and  the  income  he  derived  from  his  pen  improved 


POTTS     PERE.  331 

also,  although  at  a  less  satisfactory  rate.  Among  literary 
meiij  he  had  a  wide  acquaintance,  and  was  very  welcome 
with  them;  they  do  not  mind  hard  hitting;  the  free 
fight  intellectual  is  popular  among  the  Bohemians,  and 
young  Galton,  late  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson's  novice,  neither 
asked  nor  gave  quarter  to  his  opponents.  This  sort  of 
society  is  by  no  means  inexorable  to  one  of  their  body 
who  has  made  an  imprudent  match  ;  to  marry,  indeed,  is 
a  weakness  in  their  eyes,  but  that  feeling  is  evoked  by 
the  conventional  nature  of  the  institution,  and  its  exceed- 
ing and  oppressive  respectability,  and  Frederick  had  not 
sinned  in  those  directions.  Mrs.  Galton  might  have  been 
the  rage  among  a  pleasant  and  powerful  section  of  the 
community,  had  it  i)leased  her  so  to  be.  Literary  men — 
who  have,  by-the-by,  the  same  objection  to  be  designated 
by  that  title,  as  doctors  have  to  be  called  medical  men — 
are  naturally  simple  and  honest,  notwithstanding  their 
wild  writing  and  wilder  talk,  and  many  of  Frederick's 
friends  fell  honorably  in  love  with  his  sweet  wife.  They 
swore  that  there  was  not  a  more  genuine  lady  in  all 
London,  as  there  was  not  a  more  beautiful.  Such  of  them 
as  were  artists  (and  many  begin  the  battle  of  life  armed 
with  pencil  as  well  as  pen),  were  solicitous  that  she  should 
give  them  sittings  for  their  Madonnas,  for  the  Virtues, 
and  for  the  more  decent  of  the  Heathen  goddesses.  The 
adulation  which  they  paid  to  her  pleased  her  husband, 
but  not  herself.  She  shrank,  almost  alarmed,  from  it 
and  from  them.  She  did  not  understand  their  intel- 
lectual fireworks:  the  light  way  in  which  they  some- 
times spoke  of  solemn  things  seemed  to  her  irreverent 
and  shocking;  when  Frederick  did  so,  she  felt  that  some- 
how there  was  not  the  same  wrong  in  that,  for  love  and 
charity  are  one. 

There  are  some  women  who  seem  most  at  their  ease  in 
male  society,  and  not  to  need  the  companionship  of  their 
own  sex;  but  with  Mary  it  was  quite  otherwise.  She 
would  have  given  worlds  to  lay  her  head  upon  her 
mother's   bosom    for   one   twilight   hour,  and   hear   her 


?j.j1  m  a  e  e  I  e  d    beneath    him. 

loving  voice,  while  she  herself  wept  on  unnoticed ;  or  to 
listen  to  the  thoughtful  words  of  patient  sister  Jane.  It 
was  almost  a  relief  to  her  when  their  circumstances  grew 
so  narrow  that  her  husband  discouraged  all  would-be 
visitors  to  their  humble  home;  for  though  he  had  little 
personal  pride,  he  did  not  choose  that  people  should  see 
his  wife  in  a  shabby  gown.  Then  the  baby  had  come 
for  a  blessed  companion  to  her;  and  poverty  and  estrange- 
ment from  her  kith  and  kin,  were  more  than  compen- 
sated for  by  the  intoxicating  fact,  that  the  child  was 
indubitably  like  its  father.  The  male  parent  modestly 
thought  but  little  of  this  circumstance,  and  even  rallied 
her  upon  it :  ^^  Why,  my  dearest  love,  I  did  not  enter- 
tain the  slightest  apprehension  that  he  would  be  like 
anybody  else." 

Frederick  tore  himself  away  without  much  difficulty 
from  the  society  of  that  blessed  babe.  He  was  from 
home  a  great  deal  during  both  day  and  night.  An 
apartment  had  been  set  aside  for  him  at  the  office  of  the 
Porcupine,  and  there  he  wrote  in  the  morning — compo- 
sition at  Somers  Town  being  a  work  of  difficulty,  since 
there  ^vas  but  one  sitting-room,  and  even  that  subject  to 
sudden  incursions  of  the  mald-of-all-work,  who,  on  the 
other  hand,  could  be  depended  upon  to  keep  away  if  one 
rang  the  bell.  This  desirable  arrangement  had,  strange 
to  say,  been  accomplished  quite  lately  by  Mr.  Percival 
Potts.  When  John  Meyrick,  upon  that  gentleman's 
authority,  had  made  his  depreciating  remarks  upon  the 
Galtons,  he  was  not  Cjuoting  a  very  recent  piece  of  scandal, 
although  when  Frederick's  marriage  had  first  become 
know,  his  collaborateur  had  been  exceedingly  hard  upon 
him.  Lord  Cuckoo's  party  had  got  into  power,  and  with 
it  Potts.  The  sub-editor's  paper  had  become  the  minis- 
terial organ.  He  was  a  greater  man  than  ever,  and  of 
course,  more  impatient  of  contradiction.  In  his  new 
position,  he  considered  himself  almost  officially  called 
upon  to  discountenance  any  social  insubordination,  such 
as  an  unec^ual  marriage ;  and  we  may  be  sure  that  Fred- 


P  O  T  T  >      P  E  P  E  .  333 

irick  took  less  pains  thau  ever  to  pay  court  to  him.  The 
literary  club  to  whicli  they  belonged  was  transformed 
into  a  bear-garden  whenever  these  two  gentlemen  hap- 
pened to  meet  there,  and  Mr.  Potts  invariably  came  out 
of  these  conflicts  second  best.  Prosperity  had  made  him 
more  overbearing,  but  not  keener ;  while  adversity  had 
given  a  sting  to  tlie  young  man's  wits,  which  made  itself 
felt,  notwithstanding  the  triple  mail  of  self-complacency 
in  which  his  foe  was  encased.  A  combat  between  a 
wliale  and  a  sword-fish  can  only  end  one  way. 

It  was  while  this  internecine  war  was  raofino:  between 
them  that  Mr.  Frederick  Galton  happened  to  lose  himself 
one  morning,  while  essaying  a  short-cut  from  Somers  Town 
into  the  civilized  world.  He  got  inextricably  involved  in 
a  labyrinth  of  little  streets  all  exactly  like  one  another, 
and  of  which  London  contains  whole  towns.  This  par- 
ticular town  did  not  apparently  boast  of  23olicemen,  which 
was  the  more  singular,  since  tlie  contents  of  all  the  shops 
were  emptied  into  the  streets,  and  greatly  exposed  to 
larceny ;  so  the  young  man  stepped  into  a  tailor's  shop 
to  ask  the  way.  There  were  plenty  of  people  standing 
at  their  doors  on  guard  over  their  goods,  of  whom  it 
would  have  been  more  convenient  to  inquire;  but  the 
tailors  shop  had  -^  Potts"  written  over  it,  and  more  than 
that,  it  had  "  P,  Potts."  This  circumstance  had  a  great 
attraction  for  Frederick,  although  not  arising  from  the 
associations  of  love.  The  window  of  this  establishment 
was  not  set  forth  after  the  skimpy  manner  of  Bond  Street, 
with  one  pair  of  elegantly-cut  trousers  and  one  elaborate 
waistcoat,  but  was  crowded  with  articles  of  apparel, 
among  which  reclined  (for  there  was  something  wrong 
with  his  knickerbockered  legs)  a  waxen-boy,  with  a 
ticket  round  his  neck  such  as  blind  men  wear  in  charit- 
able neighborhoods.  This  youth,  however  was  perfectly 
wide  awake  (though  he  had  six  very  distinct  eyelashes 
upon  each  lid  to  shut,  if  he  had  been  so  disposed),  and 
stared  even  to  painfulness  at  those  passers-by  who  could 
resist  the  attraction  of  "Youths'  complete  suits  for  the 


334  MARRIED      B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HI  M  . 

public  schools  at  1/.  4.s.  6c/."  Perhaps  the  semi-recum- 
bent position  was^  after  all,  not  owing  to  his  legs  so  much 
as  to  the  repeated  disappointjnent  of  his  expectations ; 
for  fashionable  customers,  having  boys  at  a  public  school, 
and  therefore  requiring  such  distinguished  garments, 
were  far  from  numerous  in  that  locality.  The  proprietor 
of  this  establishment,  however,  was  a  cheerful  little 
old  man,  who,  if  he  had  had  losses,  had  forgotten  them. 
He  was  slightly  humpbacked,  and  the  professional 
attitude  in  which  he  sat  behind  his  counter,  aggra- 
vated the  appearance  of  that  defect  considerably ;  a 
pair  of  scissors  about  the  size  of  his  own  legs  reposed 
by  his  side,  and  imparted  to  him  a  sort  of  panto- 
mimic air. 

^^  What  can  we  do  for  you,  sir?"  inquired  this  gnome 
of  industry,  of  Frederick,  looking  sharply  up,  his  bright 
beady  eyes  in  curious  contrast  with  his  snow-white  hair. 
"  Is  it  coats,  or  vests,  or  is  it — which  I  should  think  most 
likely — connubial  does?" 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Frederick,  smiling,  ^^  that  you  will 
think  me  a  shabby  fellow,  since  I  have  only  entered  your 
shop  to  ask  the  way." 

"  Xo,"  said  the  little  tailor,  regarding  the  young  man 
attentively  through  his  horn  spectacles,  '^  I  shall  not 
think  you  that ;  but  unfortunately,  I  am  the  very  last 
man  you  should  have  applied  to  by  way  of  finger-post. 
I  am  but  a  poor  creature,  as  you  see,  and  seldom  stir  out 
of  doors;  but  if  you  will  reach  down  that  little  packet 
of  books  yonder,  I  think  there  is  a  map  of  London  among 
them,  which,  although  not  a  nev>'  one,  may  perhaps  sevve 
your  purpose." 

'^  Your  literature  is  much  more  recent  than  your  maps, 
however,"  observed  Frederick.  '^  Why,  how  is  this? 
You  have  got  the  number  of  the  Porcupine  that  only 
comes  out  to-day  ! " 

"  I  have  a  friend  connected  with  the — the  establish- 
ment, who  sends  me  a  presentation  copy  every  month," 
observed  the  little  tailor,  rubbing  his  bauds.     "I  am  a 


POTTS     PEEE.  330 

great  admirer  of  the  Porcupine.     Don't  you   think,  sir, 
that  it  is  a  very  admirable  magazine?" 

-'  I  do,  indeed,''  said  Frederick,  frankly,  "  although, 
perhaps,  I  should  not  say  so,  since  I  am  personally  con- 
cerned with  it.  But,  my  good  friend,  you  don't  read  it, 
you  don't  even  cut  the  leaves." 

The  young  author  was  seriously  chagrined  to  find  that 
his  own  article  of  the  current  month,  as  well  as  those  of 
the  two  preceding  numbers,  remained  uninvaded  by  the 
paper-knife. 

''  I  read  some  of  it,"  returned  the  old  man,  taking  u]) 
a  copy :  ^'  see  here,  how  dog-leaved  and  dirty  the  pages 
are.  1  have  cried  over  those  beautiful  words  like  a 
young  child." 

''The  author  of  that  paper  is  a  very  clever  writer," 
remarked  Frederick,  dryly. 

''  The  cleverest,  the  besf  of  them  all,"  replied  the  tailor, 
eagerly ;  "  and  he  has  got  a  kind  heart,  too." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  my  good  man?" 

''  Because  I — I  see  it  here,''  returned  the  old  fellow ; 
"  under  all  the  coldness  and  glitter,  there  lies  affectionate 
warmth,  just  as  the  teeming  earth  lies  warm  beneath  the 
frost  and  snow." 

''  I  shall  see  the  gentleman  to-day  whose  works  you 
think  so  highly  of,  and  I  will  tell  him  what  a  warm  ad- 
mirer he  has  got  in —    Your  name  is  Potts,  is  it  not?" 

"You  will  see  him  to-day  I"  cried  the  little  old  man, 
enthusiastically,  and  dashing  his  scissors  together  as 
though  they  were  triumphant  cymbals.  ''  Dear  me,  dear 
me!'''  He*^  looked  at  Frederick  as  schoolboys  immured 
at  Clapham  on  the  Derby  day  gaze  on  the  folks  bound 
for  Epsom  Downs.  He  was*  not  the  Eose  but  he  was 
about  to  be  near  the  Rose.  '"'Do  you  happen  to  be 
returning  the  same  way,  sir?  Would  you  mind  looking 
in  and  felling  me  how  you  found  him,  as  you  go  by  ? 
Would  you  mind  it  very  much?" 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do  so,"  returned  Frederick, 
looking  fixedly  at  his  new  acquaintance.     ''  I  see  that 


336  M  A  r.  E  I  E  D      BENE  A  T  II      H  I  M  . 

the  initial  of  your  Christian  name  is  P.  I  cannot  be  far 
wrong  in  supposing  that  that  stands  for  Percival.  I  am 
speaking  to  Percival  Potts^  father  of  the  distinguished 
writer  of  that  name,  then  ?'^ 

^^And  whoever  told  you  that?"  inquired  the  little 
tailor,  setting  down  his  shears  in  blank  amazement  and 
dismay. 

"  Why,  you  told  me  so  yourself,"  laughed  Frederick. 
^^  I  assure  you  it  is  quite  news  to  me;^'  and  under  his 
breath  he  added,  ^^  and  very  great  uews,  too." 

"Look  here,  sir,"  said  the  hunchback,  solemnly,  rising 
with  difficulty,  and  holding  on  to  the  counter  with  both 
hands ;  "  I  am  old,  and  you  are  young ;  I  am  weak,  and 
you  are  strong;  you  could  kill  me  very  easily,  but  it 
w^ould  be  a  shameful  tiling  to  do." 

"A  very  shameful  thing,"  returned  Frederick,  quietly. 
"Who  would  dream  of  doing  such  a  thing?" 

"You  would,  sir;  you  are  plotting  it  at  this  very 
minute ;  your  young  face  that  was  beautiful  as  a  picture 
when  you  came  in  here,  is  grown  ugly  and  cruel.  You 
are  going  to  tell  my  proud  son  that  you  have  found  his 
father.  You  are  jealous  of  his  great  fame  and  name. 
Whv  did  I  not  know  that  you  were  his  enemy  at  first 
sight?" 

"  Your  son  has  done  me  much  harm,  old  man,"  re- 
plied Frederick,  sternly ;  "  but  what  I  hate  him  most 
for  is  because  he  is  ashamed  of  you." 

"  Don't  say  that,  sir ;  pray,  pray  don't  say  that,"  cried 
the  old  man,  piteously.  "You  don't  know  what  a  good 
son  he  is.  He  stocks  my  shop,  sir ;  all  that  is  here  has 
been  given  by  him ;  it  does  not  signify  to  me — thanks 
to  my  Percy ! — whether  customers  come  or  not.  He 
would  have  put  me  in  a  villa  in  the  country,  if  I  had  only 
said  the  word.  Once  every  week — think  of  that — he 
comes  and  takes  his  tea — there  in  that  little  room,  and 
listens  to  my  stupid  talk;  he  as  might  be  in  the  king's 
own  palace,  or  where  not ;  yet  he  never  disappoints  me — 
never.     It  isn't  the  shrimps  and  water-cresses  as  brings 


POTTS     PERE.  337 

him,  of  course,  but  ouly  me.  Ob,  sir,  pray  spare  him, 
spare  hi  m  ! " 

-'  I  am  glad  to  hear  he  comes  and  sees  you,"  said 
Frederick,  gravely. 

'^\nd  has  done,  all  his  life,"  pursued  the  old  man, 
eagerly;  "when  he  Avas  only  errand-boy  about  the 
newspaper-office  in  the  north  country,  and  worked  twelve 
hours'a  day,  and  needed  to  be  ip  the  Institute  at  night 
to  train  his  mind,  yet  he  always  spared  an  hour  to  be 
with  me.  Why,  he  taught  me  to  write  and  read,  sir ; 
he  was  my  tutor — the  teacher  of  his  father — think  of 
that — at  twelve  years  old  !  Then,  when  he  was  reporter, 
with  all  his  nio'ht  work,  it  was  the  same;  he  was  never 
too  tired  to  tell  me  all  the  nevrs ;  and  Vvhen  I  got  my 
bad  fall — he  was  sub-editor  then — lie  would  sit  by  my 
bed-side  and  read  until  I  forgot  my  pain,  and  sank  to 
sleep." 

"  The  better  for  him,"  said  Frederick,  solemnly,  "  both 
now  and  hereafter." 

"And  all  that  time,  sir,  and  notwithstanding  all  these 
things,  he  was  the  perfect  gentleman.  *  Father,  I  intend 
to  be  a  gentleman,'  said  he,  looking  up  from  his  book 
one  day,  when  he  was  but  a  child ;  and  he  has  never 
faltered  in  his  purpose.  To  see  that  boy  pore  over  our 
few  old  books  and  records,  in  hopes  to  find  out  that 
he  came  of  a  good  stock,  was  a  wonderful  sight ;  and 
when  lie  had  made  it  out  to  his  own  satisfaction  that  he 
did,  I  shall  never  forget  it !  Then  he  began  to  hate  this 
tailoring  trade;  but  I  was  wedded  to  it,  and  I  couldn't 
do  anything  else.  My  poor  dear  wife,  too,  worked  with 
her  needle  as  well  as  any  man ;  you  are  too  young  to 
know  what  a  tie  that  is.  It  is  ridiculous  to  you  that 
an  old  misshapen  tailor  should  speak  of  love.  Ah,  sir, 
you  think  my  Percy  proud ;  but  his  haughtiness  is  mere 
humility  compared  to  the  pride  with  which  his  mother 
regarded  him.  She  would  not  have  had  him  speak  of 
her  among  the  lords  and  ladies,  look  you,  no,  not  for 
ten  thousand  pounds.  It  would  have  killed  him,  she 
21 


338  MAEEIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

well  knew ;  the  busy  brain  would  have  planned  no 
more ;  the  fiery  wit  would  have  been  quenclied  forever. 
And  now,  if  you  wish  to  revenge  yourself,  young  sir, 
for  any  slight  which  my  son  has  put  upon  you,  you  can 
do  so  rarely ;  for  you  will  not  only  kill  your  foe,  but 
this  poor  worthless  creature  too,  his  father.  He  will  not 
reproach  me,  although  it  was  I  who  would  have  the  name 
written  up  above  my  door,  because,  forsooth,  I  said- 1  was 
an  honest  man,  and  need  not  be  ashamed  of  it ;  but.  I 
shall  know  that  it  was  my  fault  all  the  same;  all  mine, 
all  mine !" 

The  old  man  sank  down  into  his  old  position,  and 
feebly  strove  to  go  on  with  his  work,  but  could  not  do 
so;  the  mighty  scissors  were  too  heavy  for  him,  and  fell 
from  his  nerveless  fingers ;  his  head  dropped  forward  on 
his  knee  in  cross-legged  dejection.  It  was  a  spectacle  to 
move  a  harder  heart  than  Frederick's.  "Old  man," 
said  he,  with  feeling,  "  I  had  promised  myself  a  great 
revenge  upon  your  son." 

"But  you  will  spare  him!"  cried  the  tailor,  looking 
up  with  eager  hope ;  "  your  eyes  are  not  cruel  now." 

"  I  will  never  breathe  one  word  of  what  I  know," 
replied  Frederick,  earnestly,  "not  even  to  himself ;  but 
when  you  see  him  next,  tell  him  that  Frederick  Galton — 
You  will  not  forget  the  name? — " 

"  Xo,  no  ;  go  on." 

"That  Frederick  Galton  had  him  in  his  power  this 
day,  but  spares  him  for  your  sake,  his  father's  sake — not 
his.  Do  you  understand?  Xo;  give  no  thanks  to  me, 
but  let  him  give  thanks  to  that  good  father — he  will 
know  how  good  when  he  is  gone — whose  trusting  and 
unselfish  love  has  disarmed  my  hate." 

The  young  man  reached  his  hand  across  the  counter 
and  took  the  tailor's  feeble  palm  wltliin  his  ovrn.  In 
another  moment,  he  v.as  away  upon  his  road.  They  had 
met  together  for  one  half-hour  upon  life's  pilgrimage,  and 
were  never  to  meet  again  in^his  vrorld  ;  yet  what  esteem 
had  been  won  upon  one  side,  vrhat  gratitude  extorted 


POTTS     P  E  E  E  .  66\) 

from  the  other  I  What  new  and  blessed  belief  in  their 
fellow-creatures  had  been  suddenly  grafted,  at  least  upon 
one  of  them  !  wiiat  charity  !  what  generous  forbearance  ! 
Percival  Potts  was  more  intolerable  than  usual  at  the 
club  that  night — more  despotic,  more  oppressive  with 
quotation,  more  boastful  of  his  ancient  lineage,  and  of 
the  knightly  deeds  of  his  ancestors  in  the  grand  old  times  ; 
but  his  youthful  foe  never  once  laid  lance  in  rest  against 
him.  He  thought,  with  almost  terrox',  of  the  idea  that 
had  once  taken  possession  of  him,  of  exposing  this  poor 
boaster  in  the  midst  of  his  wonderful  lies!  What  a 
crime  would  he  have  therein  committed,  in  ruining  one 
who  was  never  so  poor  but  he  could  not  help  his  parent, 
who  was  never  so  ignorant  but  he  imparted  to  him  what 
little  he  knew,  who  was  never  so  occupied  but  he  had  time 
to  attend  to  his  wants  in  need  and  sickness.  It  is  true  that 
this  man  was  contemptible  enough  from  one  point  of 
view,  even  as  a  son.  But,  upon  the  whole,  had  poor 
Dr.  Gal  ton  had  as  good  reason  to  be  proud  of  his  oif- 
spring  as  had  the  little  tailor  in  Wigwam  street?  Had 
Frederick  never  been  ashamed  (in  Grosvenor  Square, 
for  instance),  of  one,  not  a  relative,  indeed,  but  who 
should  have  been  nearer  and  dearer  than  all  ^relatives? 
The  young  man,  disarmed  by  thoughts  like  these,  laid 
aside' all  his  barbed  talk.  He  was  not  conciliatory, 
because  conciliation  towards  men  of  the  Potts  calibre  is 
merely  an  invitation  to  them  to  be  insulting ;  but  he 
kept  an  unwonted  silence.  The  toadies  and  flatterers 
whispered  to  one  another :  ^'  He  has  knocked  under. 
The  comb  of  this  young  fighting-cock  has  been  cut 
at  last." 

Upon  the  next  meeting  of  the  club,  this  opinion  was 
expressed  more  openly,  in  the  absence  of  its  subject,  by 
some  unhappy  slave,  who,  seeking  to  please  the  tyrant, 
received  on  his  astonished  ears  a  buffet  which  (intellec- 
tually) sent  him  sprawling. 

^-  Be  silent,  sir ;  you  are  not  fit  to  hold  a  candle  to  the 
man  whom  vou  revile." 


340  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

And  when  the  young  gentleman  himself  entered  the 
apartment,  Percival  Potts  went  forward  to  the  door  to 
meet  him  (as  the  Pope  welcomes  emperors  of  whose  con- 
duct he  approves),  and  gave  liim  a  hand-grasp  full  of 
meaning. 

"  Let  us  be  friends,  Galton,  henceforth,'^  he  whispered. 

^^But  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  married  a  ])erson  of 
sufficiently  distinguished  family,"  rejoined  Frederick, 
smiling. 

^^You  need  not  trouble  yourself  on  that  account," 
answered  the  ready  Potts.  "  I  am  charmed  to  hear  that 
I  am  to  meet  you  at  the  Mey ricks',  and  only  wish  Mrs. 
Galton  was  to  accompany  you  ;  her  very  looks  would 
be  a  success,  not  only  for  a  charade,  but  for  a  five-act 
play." 

'^I  never  v:as  jealous  of  you,"  returned  the  young 
man,  with  a  bold  but  ])lcasant  smile. 

"  I  do  believe  it,  Galton,"  cried  the  sub-editor,  frankly ; 
"  and  I  wish  I  could  say  the  same  of  myself  But  if  I 
am  not  naturally  magnanimous,  I  have  at  least  the 
power  of  apj)reciating  magnanimity  in  other  people." 

There  is  no  necessity  for  many  words  in  the  bond 
which  unites  persons  of  genius;  but  if  I  have  dwelt 
somewhat'  long  upon  the  circumstance  which  gained 
Frederick  Galton  a  powerful  friend  for  life,  it  is  because 
I  see  an  ink-black  cloud  at  hand,  obscuring  all  the 
firmament  of  his  being — a  terrible  time,  when  he  will 
need  friends  indeed.  The  prescient  author  sympathises 
with  the  loved  objects  of  his  creation,  and  when  he 
seems  to  procrastinate  their  good  fortune,  it  is  because 
he  perceives  the  shadow  of  the  coming  woe  draw  nigh. 


VI     ET     ARMS     A-KIMBO.  341 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

VI    ET   APvMS    A-KIMBO. 

THE  phrase  "he  hasn't  a  shilling/'  has  a  very  vari- 
able meaning,  and  the  value  of  that  coin  is  as 
difficult  to  define  as  what  is  a  pound.  AYhen  applied  to  a 
lucifer-match  seller  in  the  public  streets,  it  means  t\Yelve 
pence ;  and  when  used  in  reference  to  the  younger  son  of  a 
duke,  it  rises  to  five  thousand  pounds.  Thus,  although  it 
was  currently  reported  that  ^Ir.  Frederick  Galton  had  not 
a  shilling  "to  call  his  own,"  "to  bless  himself  with,"  "to 
>wear  by,"  etc.,  etc.  (for  there  is  no  end  to  the  phrases  with 
Avhich  even  the  most  prosaic  delight  to  honor  their  idol 
^Mammon),  he  had  always  in  reality  his  pockets  full  of 
money.  Xotliing  (he  used  to  aver)  was  so  distressing  to 
him  as  to  be  without  a  few  sovereigns  in  his  waistcoat ;  not 
necessarily  to  spend,  but  to  be  ready  to  spend  in  case  of 
an  emergency.  "  Everything  that  is  beautiful  to  the  eye, 
or  pleasant  to  the  taste,  is  mine,"  Cjuoth  he,  "in  the 
highest  and  best  sense,  if  I  can  but  command  the  price 
of  it.  The  capability  of  possession  is  equal  to  the  pos- 
session itself,  and,  at  all  events,  nips  envy  in  the  bud. 
Directly  I  feel  that  evil  passion  rise,  I  say  to  myself: 
^  Frederick,  Frederick,  if  this  is  not  put  a  stop  to  at 
once,  I  go  in  and  purchase  that  expensive  article.'" 
Perhaps  he  vras  sometimes  compelled  by  this  inexorable 
'jgic  to  commit  little  extravagances;  but  certain  it  is,  in 
-pite  of  his  assertion,  that  he  never  spent  anything,  that 
the  golden  lining  of  his  waistcoat  pockets  had  not  seldom 
to  be  renewed.  This  could  only  be  done  by  omitting 
to  pay  for  vulgar  necessaries,  which  eveiy  day  appeared 
to  him  a  duty  less  and  less  incumbent ;  for  getting  into 
debt  is  like  going  to  sea,  when  you  are  once  there,  it 
matters  verv  little  whether  you  ride  in  ten-fathom  water 


;']]2  MAREIED      BEXEATH      HIM. 

or  a  hundred ;  and  the  longer  you  keep  afloat,  the  more 
accustomed  you  get  to  the  danger. 

I  am  afraid  he  ^yas  very  much  encouraged  in  this  per- 
sonal extravagance — for  such  it  was  in  a  man  of  his 
position — by  his  wife.  Mary  thought  nothing  too  good, 
or  good  enough,  for  her  paragon  of  a  husband ;  she  difl 
not  know  the  full  extent  of  his  embarrassments,  but  sh;.' 
knew  that  it  became  her  to  practise  every  kind  of 
domestic  economy.  When  he  went  out  to  his  fine  din- 
ners, to  which  she  was  uot  invited,  he  would  often  lay 
strict  injunctions  upon  her  to  treat  herself  to  some 
delicacy  for  her  lonely  mord,  and  she  would  appear  to 
comply  with  his  wishes,  really  thankful  for  the  loving 
thought  that  dictated  them ;  but  it  always  ended  in  bread 
and  cheese.  That  was  the  sort  of  supper  Avhich  she  had 
been  used  to  all  her  life,  and  why  should'  slie  object  to  it 
now?  But  her  Frederick  had  been  brought  up  in  a  very 
different  manner,  and  it  was  only  right  that  he  should 
deny  himself  nothing. 

"Go  and  enjoy  yourself,  my  ovrn  love,  by  all  means," 
was  her  cheerful  reply,  whenever  his  conscience  pricked 
him  into  self-rep robatlcn  for  leaving  her  so  much  at 
home  and  alone.  She  did  not  use  that  phrase  in  any 
sarcastic  sense,  as  some  v/ives  do,  and  even  added :  "  I 
never  feel  so  happy,  Frederick,  as  when  I  think  that 
you  are  so,  and  that  I  am  ro  iir.pediment  to  your  pleas- 
ure." Nor  let  it  be  imagined  that  the  lord  of  this 
patient  Griselda  was  a  selfish  and  unfeeling  fellow,  who 
never  thought  of  his  vvife  when  he  was  away  from  her, 
and  took  all  her  self-abnegations  for  his  sake  as  a  matter 
of  course.  He  was  merely  such  a  husband  as  any  man, 
however  loyal  and  affectionate-hearted,  is  likely  to  be- 
come, who  marries  a  woman  who  has  adored,  and 
continues  to  adore  him ;  a  class  of  domestic  female, 
however,  not  so  common  as  to  arouse  apprehension  of 
any  very  wide-spread  deterioration  of  the  male  sex. 

But  when  the  door  of  that  little  residence  in  Somers 
Town  had  closed  behind  its  temporary  proprietor  (for 


\   1       E  T     A  E  M  S     A-KIMBO.  343 

they  were  only  in  lodgings)  for  the  whole  day  (unless 
when  he  returned  late  in  the  afternoon  to  dress  for 
dinner,  and  then  went  forth  again  in  glorious  apparel  for 
the  entire  evening  and  far  into  the  night),  poor  Mary 
Galton  experienced  a  sense  of  desolation  to  which  she 
never  owned.  If  her  husband  could  have  looked  into 
lier  heart  as  she  bade  him  smiling  farewell  every  morn- 
ing, he  would  have  turned  back  in  bitter  penitence,  and 
called  himself  a  multitude  of  derogatory  names  j  but  he 
only  saw  the  beautiful  face  with  the  sunshine  on  it, — for 
how  could  she  do  otherwise  than  smile  while  he  was  in 
^ight  ? — and  knew  nothing  of  the  shadow  that  fell  over 
it  a  moment  afterwards.  She  and  her  child  were  hence- 
forth left,  not  only  among  strangers,  but  enemies.  Every 
ring  at  the  door -bell  vras  a  hostile  summons.  The 
butcher,  the  grocer,  and  the  baker  attacked  the  house 
everv  morning  by  regular  ap])roaches,  and  even  threat-, 
ened  to  cut  off  the  supplies  of  the  little  garrison.  A 
guerilla  warfare  was  ceaselessly  carried  on  by  the  milk- 
man and  the  washerwoman.  Besides  these,  there  was  an 
enemv  within-doors,  more  terrible  than  any,  in  Mrs. 
Gideon,  the  landlady.  She  was  full  of  strange  expres- 
sions, "  Gad-a-mercy  !  "  ^^  Odds  my  life  !  "  etc.,  etc., 
sounding  to  poor  Mary  like  oaths;  and  she  protested,  in 
a  vehement  manner,  that  she  had  waited  long  enough, 
and  that  she  should  like  to  see  the  color  of  Mrs.  Galton's 
money  most  uncommonly.  It  was  poor  Clary's  task, 
thus  subject  to  "perpetual  alarms  and  excursions,^^  from 
within  and  without,  not,  indeed,  to  repulse  the  invaders, 
for  that  was  impossible,  but  to  stave  them  off  until  that 
good  time  which  her  husband  assured  her  was  approach- 
ing, and  above  all  things  to  keep  him  as  ignorant  as 
possible  of  their  excessive  importunity.  He  took  any- 
thing unpleasant  so  very  much  to  heart  that  all  bad 
news  must  be  kept  from  him ;  annoyances  such  as  these 
would  worry  him  to  death;  and- it  was  best,  since  he 
could  not  cure  them,  that  he  sliould  know  nothing  about 
them.     Of  course  it  was  a  mistaken  policy,  but  nobody 


344  M  A  K  R  I  E  D      B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

could  have  carried  it  out  with  more  success.  Even  the 
butcher  was  melted  by  the  beauty  of  this  sweet  spoken 
debtor,  who  came  out  with  her  lovely  child  in  her  arms 
to  beg  that  the  bill  might  be  allowed  to  run  a  little 
longer.  The  more  obdurate  creditors  Avere  those  of  her 
own  sex,  and  of  these  the  worst  was  Mrs.  Gideon.  She 
Avas  naturally  coarse  and  even  cruel,  and  poor  Mrs. 
Galton  was  very  much  afraid  of  her  indeed.  Why  she 
did  not  attack  Frederick  himself  I  cannot  tell ;  perhaps 
her  savage  breast  was  moved  by  his  good  looks,  as  that 
of  the  butcher  was  moved  by  Mary's ;  perhaps  she  was  a 
coward  in  spite  of  her  loud  tones  and  arms  a-kimbo ; 
but  at  all  events,  certain  it  is  that  her  fiercest  onslaughts 
upon  her  present  lodgers  were  made  in  the  absence  of 
the  principal  offender. 

It  was  getting  late  on  an  afternoon  in  June,  and  ]Mrs. 
Galton  having  returned  fatigued  from  a  dusty  walk  Avith 
her  nurse  and  son-and-heir,  was  helping  to  put  the  latter 
to  bed,  when  there  came  a  rap  at  the  nursery  door,  and 
enter  Mrs.  Gideon,  Avith  a  pottle  of  straAA'berries  in  her 
hand,  and  a  determination  of  blood  to  her  head,  from  a 
combination  of  three  causes — rum,  running  up -stairs, 
and  passion.  ^'A  pretty  thing,''  cried  she,  ^' Gad-a-mercy, 
not  to  have  paid  me  a  silver  sixpence  these  two  months, 
and  then  to  order  strawberries  at  eighteenpence  a  pottle, 
and  my  fool  of  a  servant  to  pay  the  money,  Avhich  she 
might  just  as  aa'cU  haA^e  thrown  into  the  dirt.  Straw- 
berries, bedad  I " 

Poor  Mary  clutched  her  half-dressed  child  to  her 
bosom,  in  case  instant  flight  should  be  necessary,  and 
addressed  the  fury  in  mitigation. 

"I  know  nothing  about  them,  Mrs.  Gideon,  and  cer- 
tainly have  ordered  nothing  of  the  kind  myself.  I  will 
pay  you,  hov.OA'er,  the  eighteenpence  Avith  pleasure.  I 
daresay  my  kind  husband  told  them  to  send  them  in  for 
me  at  tea-time,  and  purposely  did  not  pay  for  them,  tliat 
they  might  be  sure  to  be  sent." 

'•  Yom-  kind  husband  ! "  rejoined  the  landlady,  with 


VI     ET     ARMS     A-KIMBO.  345 

contemptuous  pity.  ^'Ah,  he's  very  kind,  no  doubt^  and 
especially  with  other  people's  money.  Why  you  poor 
little  fool,  haven't  you  seen  through  hira  yet,  and  you 
his  wife  ?  Why,  when  you  came  here,  first,  says  I  to 
myself,  ^He  can  surely  never  have  made  her  an  honest 
woman,  or  she  would  never  put  up  with  such  treat- 
ment.' " 

"  r>Irs.  Gideon,"  answered  ^larv,  pale  as  ashes,  but 
trembling  much  more  with  anger  than  with  fear,  "  I  do 
not  know  what  to  say  to  one  like  you,  except  that  you 
are  not  telling  the  truth." 

'•Hoity-toity,  one  like  me,"  quoth  the  landlady,  with 
a  scornful  laugh;  "and  who  are  you,  then,  Wheyface? 
There  must  be  something  wrong  about  you,  or  else  your 
man  wouldn't  leave  you  every  day,  and  all  day  long  in 
this  fashion.  Why,  how  do  I  know  but  what  he  may  go 
awav  some  fine  morning,  and  never  come  back  at  all,  but 
leave  vou  and  your  squalling  babv  bv  wav  of  pavment 
for  the  rent?"  *   .' 

'^  When  he  comes  back  to-night,  woman,"  returned 
Mary,  quietly,  "  it  will  be  for  the  last  time  to  this  house  ; 
I  am  quite  sure  of  that.  He  will  never" — here  her 
voice  sank  into  a  sort  of  pitiful  soliloquy — "never  leave 
me  under  this  roof  alone  again." 

"  But  vou  will  go  from  here  to  jail,"  continued  the 
virago,  stamping  upon  the  floor  with  passion.  "  If  I 
can  get  mv  dues  no  other  way,  I  will  gQi  it  out  of  your 
>kin.  There  are  men  in  the  house  now  who  will  see  me 
righted.  I  swore  I  would  do  it,  and  I  have  done  it. 
Your  young  gentleman  will  find  a  guest  in  the  parlor 
whom  he  has  not  invited." 

The  little  nursery-,  with  its  diabolical  figure  in  the 
foreground — space-monopolizing,  terrible  as  the  helmc: 
in  the  Castle  of  Otranto — swam  round  before  Mary's 
eves.  Her  little  maid,  her  only  ally,  had  fled  in  panic. 
She  did  not  know  that  much  of  the  threatened  evil  was 
mere  malicious  menace ;  while  she  felt  tb.at  "the  woman- 
herself  would  not  hesitate  to  push  a  cruel  law  as  far  a^ 


346  MARRIED      BEXEATH     HIM. 

it  would  go.  Already  she  beheld  her  husband  hauled 
to  prison — her  husband^  against  whom  a  few  minutes 
ago  she  had  thought  it  sacrilege  even  to  hear  this 
woman  speak.  Her  child  was  moaning  at  her  breast, 
as  though  to  remind  her  that  he,  too,  was  about  to 
be  whelmed  in  the  coming  ruin.  ^^  My  God !  '^  cried 
she,  in  agony,  moving  the  thick  masses  of  hair  from 
her  forehead,  and  trying  to  think,  ^'  how  can  I — can  I 
save  him  ?  '^ 

"  By  paying  the  money  !  "  answered  the  landlady,  with 
abrupt  intelligence,  the  bare  idea  of  such  a  satisfactory 
arrangement  giving  distinctness  to  her  speech  and  steadi- 
ness to  her  erratic  eyes.  "  30/.  14s.  4Jcf.,  nmch  of  which 
has  gone  out  of  my  own  pocket.  You  ain't  got  it,  you 
as  eats  strawberries  at  Is.^Qd.  the  pottle — no,  not  you; 
nor  your  husband  neither,  for  all  his  fine  feathers — of 
which  I'll  pluck  him  this  very  night,  mind  you,  or  else 
my  name  ain't  Sarah  Gideon.  Here's  the  bill,  ma'am, 
which  I  leave  upon- this  table;  perhaps  you  would  like 
to  examine  the  items." 

"  Receipt  it !  "  observed  a  clear  sweet  voice,  falling  on 
the  ear  like  a  nio^htino;ale  after  screech-owl. 

A  lady  splendidly  attired,  but  with  a  thick  veil  falling 
from  her  bonnet,  and  almost  entirely  concealing  her 
features,  was  standing  within  the  room ;  her  speech  was 
directed  to  the  landlady,  but  her  eyes  were  earnestly 
fixed  upon  the  face  of  the  young  wife.  "  There  are  pen 
and  ink,  woman,  and  here  is  the  money.     Sign  ! " 

'^  Which  I  am  humbly  thankful  for,  mem,"  said  Mrs. 
Gideon,  courtesying,  after  a  rather  elaborate  examination 
of  the  watermarks  of  the  bank-notes ;  ^'  and  if  I  have 
been  somewhat  hasty  in  my  language,  having  been 
worrited  with  spasms  all  the  day  (as  I  hope  may  never 
be  the  case  with  either  of  you  ladies),  and  gin  and  pep- 
permint next  to  useless,  perhaps  it  may  be  forgotten  and 
forgiven. — IMay  I  lielp  you  to  take  your  bonnet  and 
shawl  off,  my  pretty  gentlewoman  ?  "  Mrs.  Gideon  was 
about  to  suit  the  action  to  the  word,  but  the  stranger 


i::  A  \  E  S  -  D  E  O  P  P  I  X  G  .  347 

drew  herself  up  with  contemptuous  dignity,  avA  once 
more  pointed  to  the  table. 

"  Sign  and  be  silent !     That  will  do/' 

The  termagant  was  endeavoring  to  frame  some  false 
and  fawning  words  to  address  to  her  late  victim,  who 
had  sunk  down  in  a  half-swoon  into  a  chair,  but  the 
new-comer  motioned  her  away.  ^'  Have  you  not  done 
enough  mischief  by  your  talk  already,  woman?"  said 
she,  sternly.  ^^  Mrs.  Frederick  Galton  is  not  accustomed 
to  deal  with  drunken   folks.     I  am.      Xow  leave  the 


CHAPTER    XXXYII. 

EAVES-DROPPIXG. 

EELIEVED  fi^m  immediate  terror  of  Mrs.  Gideon, 
^vhich  had  frozen  the  very  fountain  of  life  within 
her,  ^lary  regarded  her  unknown  preserver  through  a 
mist  of  tears.  "  I  cannot  help  crying  a  little,"  said  she, 
humbly;  "but  I  do  feel  so  very  grateful.  Heaven  bless 
you !  See,  my  child  blesses  you,  for  to  me  at  least  his 
smile  is  a  blessing." 

"  "Weep  on,  kind  heart,"  returned  the  stranger,  putting 
aside  her  veil,  and  regarding  the  young  mother  with 
affectionate  yearning.  '^  It  is  well  to  have  eyes  that 
have  not  forgotten  how  to  weep." 

"  That  surely  cannot  be  your  case,"  answered  the  other, 
earnestly.  "  It  is  not  possible  that  one  so  young,  and 
fair,  and  rich  in  tliis  world's  goods,  can  be  in  such  sad 
plight  as  that." 

"  It  is  very  possible,"  replied  the  visitor,  Avith  a  sor- 
rowful smile;  "but  I  am  not  come  here  to  talk  about 
myself,  Mary." 

"Mary!     Why,  how  is   it  you   know  my  name?     I 


348  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HUM. 

never  saw  you  in  all  my  life  before;  of  that  I  am 
sure;  s'ince,  having  seen  you,  no  one  could  have  for- 
gotten you." 

The  undisguised  admiration  in  the  young  ^yife's  coun- 
tenance was  suddenly  exchanged  for  a  look  of  embar- 
rassment. 

"  I  know  now/^  added  she,  with  a  slight  color  mount- 
ing to  her  cheeks ;  "  you  must  be  Eugenie  de  Lernay." 

''  I  did  bear  that  name  once,  but  I  am  married  now.'' 
Mrs.  John  Meyrick  could  not  repress  a  sigh  as  she  said 
these  words.  Mrs.  Frederick  Galton  sighed  too  whe^n 
she  heard  them,  but  it  was  a  sigh  of  relief.  Eugenie 
interpreted  it  as  clearly  as  though  the  other  had  said : 
"  I  am  glad  you  are  a  married  woman :  it  is  bad  enough 
that  you  should  have  come  here  to  help  my  Frederick, 
as  it  is ;  but  if  you  had  been  single,  the  thing  would 
have  been  intolerable."  She  would  far  rather  have 
been  in  the  power  of  Mrs.  Gideon  than  indebted  to  this 
young  beauty. 

^'Mary,  clear,  listen  to  me,"  continued  she,  gravely. 
"I  like  and  admire  your  husband,  as  all  must  do  who 
know  him,  but  it  is  not  on  his  account  that  I  am  come 
here  to-day.  I  am  come  to  visit  Mary  Perling,  the 
sister  of  a  man  whose  name  has  been  in  my  prayers 
night  and  day  for  years — a  dead  man,  but  one  who  will 
never  die  out  of  my  heart." 

"Did  you  love  ^Charles  ?  "  inquired  Mary,  with^  won- 
dering eyes.     "  You  must  have  been  very,  very  young." 

"  I  love  him,  but  I  never  saw  him,"  returned  Eugenie. 
"  It  is  a  long,  sad  story,  and  I  have  no  time  to  tell  it 
now;  but,  Mary,  when  I  tell  you  that  he  saved  my 
sister — gone  to  heaven  long  since — from  shame,  you  will 
not  wonder  that  I  am  here,  having  heard  by  happy 
chance  of  your  need  ;  that  I  fall  on  my  knees  before  you 
thus,  and  kiss  you  with  no  Judas  lips,  but  because  I  love 
you  dearly,  and  take  your  baby  in  my  childless  arms, 
and  pray  that  I  may  yet,  though  late,  be  some  little  help 
and  comfort  to  him  and  to  you." 


E  A  Y  E  S  -  D  K  O  P  P  I  N  G .  349 

She  took  the  child,  still  smiling  in  her  face,  and 
caressed  it  tenderly ;  and  as  the  mother  watched  her,  the 
lino-erino'  shades  of  doubt  dissolved  and  faded  from  her 
pure  white  brow. 

''  Hovr  good  it  is  of  you  to  have  come  here,  Eugenie — 
I  mav  call  you  Eugenie,  may  I  not?  What  a  kind  face 
you  have— yet  somehow,  I  used  to  think  you  cold  and 
haughty.  You  cannot  be  very  proud  to  have  come  here, 
and  to  me.'' 

''Proud!''  returned  the  other,  bitterly.  "If  I  be  so, 
being  what  I  am,  then  must  I  be  proud  indeed.  It  is 
onhA-ery  lately  that  I  learned  who  you  were ;  and  since 
then —  'Look*^you,  Mary  dear,  I  am  a  very  wretched 
woman.  I  have  no  husband  to  love,  as  you  have.  I 
am  married  to  a  sot,  and  worse  (that  is  why  I  look  so 
hard),  in  whom  the  demon  of  drunkenness  has  been 
exorcised  of  late  only  to  make  room  for  the  fiend  oi 
jealousy.  I  am  watched,  and  tracked,  and  suspected— - 
though'  I  do  not  even  know  of  Avhat — and  therefore  it 
was  not  easy  to  get  to  see  you.  But  I  am  so  glad  that 
I  have  seen  you  at  last ;  'we  two  will  be  firm  friends. 
Hush!  what* was  that?"  Mrs.  John  Meyrick  turned 
dcadlv  pale  and  trembled. 

''  that  is  Frederick  !  "  cried  Mary,  joyfully  ;  ''  I  know 
the  sound  of  his  latchkey.  Let  us  go  down-stairs ;  how 
glad  he  will  be  to  see  you  !  But,  Eugenie,  do  not  say  a 
word  about  that  dreadful  scene  with  Mrs.  Gideon.  It 
would  annoy  him  beyond  measure ;  I  will  only  tell  hiin 
how  kind  you  have  been  in  lending  us — " 

"Not  a  word,  not  a  syllable  about  that,  Mary.  Tliat 
is  between  you  and  me*  only.  AVhen  you  become  verv 
rich,  and  calculating,  and  unkind,  you  shall  pay  me,^  if 
you  please.  If  you  feel  distressed  at  owing  me  a  fevr 
'pouuds,  what  ought  I  to  feel,  who  have  never  even 
acknowledged  my  great  debt  to  your  dead  brother ! '' 

Marv  returned  the  prettiest  answer  in  all  the  feminine 
vocabularv — a  kiss. 

"  Why,'  Eugenie,  how  cold  your  lips  are  !  I  am  afraid 


350  M  A  Pc  E  I  E  D      B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HI  M. 

that  woman  frightened  yon,  althongh  you  did  behave 
so  bravely.  Lay  the  child  dovrn  in  the  cot,  and  let  me 
bring  yoii  a  glass  of  water.  I  can  .  get  it  fresh  from 
the  tap  in  Frederick's  dressing-room,  and  be  back  in  an 
instant." 

She  was  not  away  much  longer,  but  in  the  interim  the 
little  mirror  hanging  by  a  nail  on  the  wall  reflected  a 
charming  face  with  a  rose-flush  on  either  cheek.  There 
was  no  danger  of  Eugenie  "  looking  a  fright,"  but  every 
woman  likes-  to  be  certified  that  there  is  nothing  amiss 
with  her  hair  before  presenting  herself  to  anybody, 
except,  perhaps,  her  lawful  husband ;  nor  do  I  believe 
that  the  Pig-laced  Lady  herself  was  ever  left  alone  with 
a  looking-glass  without  taking  advantage  of  the  oppor- 
tunity. 

Of  course,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  Platonic  love,  but 
there  is  always  a  certain  embarrassment  upon  at  least  one 
side,  when  a  young  gentleman  and  a  young  lady  who 
have  made  themselves  mutually  agreeable  while  single, 
meet  for  the  first  time  after  their  marriage  to  "  another." 
If  thev  have  both  married,  this  embarrassment  is  shared 
bv  each,  and  yet  by  no  meails  diminished.  The  female, 
however,  is  ahvays  most  at  ease,  and  generally  manages 
to  possess  herself  of  what  vantage-ground  the  situation 
affords.  Eugenie  descended  to  the  sitting-room  with  the 
heir  of  the  house  of  Galton  in  her  arms,  put  in,  as  it 
were,  in  evidence  of  her  new  position  as  friend  of  Fred- 
erick's wife.  Poor  Frederick  wished  himself  for  the 
moment  the  father  of  twins,  in  order  that  he  might  at 
least  establish  his  claim,  by  means  of  Xo.  2,  to  the  status 
of  a  family  man.  He  had  not  seen  Mrs.  Meyrick  since 
that  interview  at  Camford,  in  which  her  intended  had 
made  them  both  so  uncomfortable  by  his  clownish  wrath. 
He  knew,  althougli  Mary  had  never  breathed  a  word  of 
it,  that  his  own  wife  was  not  without  a  tinge  of  jealousy 
of  the  fair  Eugenie;  so  well  was  he  aware  of  this,  that 
he  had  not  thought  it  judicious  to  communicate  the  fact, 
that  he  was  going  out  to  the  Meyricks^  the  very  next 


EAVES-DROPPI^'G.  351 

evening  to  take  his  part  in  acting  charades.  ^  It  is  lawful 
to  tell  everything  to  one's  own  wife,  but  it  is  sometimes 
not  expedient.  The  invitation  had  come  from  M.  de 
Lernav,  whom  he  did  not  like,  and  was  dated  from  the 
house  of  a  man  whom  he  intensely  despised ;  his  accept- 
ance must  therefore  have  been  given  in  the  hope  of  meet- 
ing somebody  else  than  they;  and  now  he  had  unex- 
pectedly met* that  person  beforehand. 

Frederick  and  Eugenie  shook  hands  warmly. 
''You  are  very  cruel,  Mr.  Galton,  to  have  hidden 
your  charming  wife  away  from  me  thus  long.  I  have 
taken  upon  myself  to  make  the  first  call,  and  that  must 
be  returned,  if  you  please.  I  do  not  ask  her  to  accom- 
pany you  to  our  house  to-morrow  evening,  because  it 
will  be  an  entertainment  unsuited,  if  I  guess  right,  to  her 
taste.  It  is .  one,  at  least,  which,  if  I  could,  I  myself 
would  willingly  avoid.'' 

"  I  have  been  asked  by  Monsieur  de  Lernay  to  take 
part  in  a  scene  from  Shaksj^eare,"  exclaimed  Frederick, 
a  little  awkwardly.  "  It  is  a  most  innocent  role,^  my 
dear  ^lary,  I  do  assure  you ;  I  am  going  to  be  Portia  in 
the  '  Merchant  of  Venice.'  " 

''  I  shotild  dearly  like  to  see  you  act  him,"  said  Mary, 
innocentlv. 

"  It's  not  a  'him'  at  all,  my  love,"  observed  Frederick, 
twining  his  fingers  in  one  of  Mary's  golden  locks.  His 
tone  was  as  loving  as  his  action,  but  both  the  women 
knew  that  he  was  much  annoyed  at  the  mistake. 

"  Xo  lady  can  be  got  to  play  the  part,"  remarked 
Eugenie,  hastily;  '^a  London  drawing-room  audience  is 
so  censorious.  '  It  was  so  very  kind  of  your  husband  to 
undertake  it." 

These  well-meant  platitudes  failed,  as  usual,  in  the 
intention  of  putting  at  their  ease  those  to  whom  they 
were  addressed.  Mary  hung  her  head,  ashamed  of  having 
given  her  husband  cause  to  be  ashamed  of  her.  Fred- 
erick was  ashamed  of  himself  because  he  had  blushed 
even  for  an  instant  for  his  own  wife  in  the  presence  of 


60Z  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

Eugenie.  "  Surely,"  whispered  his  conscience,  "  such 
love  as  hers  might  have  excused  the  want  of  learning." 
These  three  persons  were  in  a  position  the  reverse  of  that 
occupied  by  the  man  in  the  fable  in  charge  of  the  fox, 
the  goose,  and  the  measure  of  corn.  Aiiy  two  of  them 
would  have  been  charming  company,  and  would  have 
done  one  another  no  harm ;  but  the  three  together  had 
nothing  to  say  for  themselves  whatever.  It  would  have 
been  felt  a  relief  by  all  when  the  clock  on  the  stairs 
struck  six,  and  Eugenie  rose  hastily  to  depart,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  apprehension  expressed  in  her  countenance. 
Cinderella,  when  she  overstayed  her  hour  at  the  king^s 
ball,  could  not  have  looked  more  scared. 

"I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late,"  exclaimed  she.  "Is 
there  a  cab-stand  near,  Mr.  Galton  ?  Would  you  kindly 
let  somebody  show  me  where  it  is?  I  should  lose  time 
by  sending  for  a  vehicle ;  and  I  have  not  one  moment  to 
spare." 

"  I  will  go  with  you  myself,  Mrs.  Meyrick,  if  you  must 
really  leave  us  so  soon.  We  shall  not  find  a  cab  very 
near  at  hand,  I  fear." 

The  two  young  women  hurriedly  embraced  one  another. 
"  Dearest  Mary,"  whispered  Eugenie,  "  please  believe  that 
you  are  henceforth  my  sister." 

The  next  moment  she  was  gone.  It  was  raining 
heavily  when  she  and  Frederick  Galton  stepped  into  the 
little  street,  and  there  was  at  that  time  no  other  passenger, 
from  end  to  end  of  it,  save  themselves.  He  had  scarcely, 
however,  put  his  umbrella  up,  and  taken  her  arm,  when 
the  swing-door  of  a  public-house  at  the  corner  slowly 
opened,  and  an  evil  face  looked  after  them  cunningly. 
It  must  have  been  watching  through  some  cranny  before- 
hand, or  it  could  scarcely  have  so  nicked  the  time.  It 
was  just  such  a  face  as  may  be  seen  at  the  door  of  any 
gin-shop — its  custom  always  of  an  afternoon  to  be  there 
— but  the  figure  and  dress  were  scarcely  consonant  with 
it.  Drunkenness  had  as  yet  made  no  inroads  on  this 
individual's  purse,  or  at  least  his  credit,  for  he  was  attired 


E  A  Y  E  S  -  D  R  O  P  P  I  X  G .  353 

very  handsomely;  and  if  he  had  pawned  his  undercoat^  an 
excellent  surtout,  at  all  events,  concealed  its  absence,  as 
it  also  hid  the  greater  part  of  his  person.  The  high  collar 
was  turned  upwards  so  that,  if  he  had  not  protruded  his 
red  nose  and  lobster  eyes,  as  he  did  in  his  malign  curiosity, 
his  best  friend  (if  he  had  one)  would  scarcely  have  been 
able  to  recognize  him.  His  hat,  too,  was  not  a  drunkard's 
hat,  by  any  means,  but  a  recent  acquisition  from  Lincoln 
and  Bennett's,  such  as  most  people  would  keep  under 
cover  until  such  a  shower  as  that  which  was  now  flushing 
Somers  Town  was  overpast.  This  gentleman,  however, 
merely  tilted  that  article  of  property  over  his  eyes  to  hide 
his  fiery  face  still  more  completely,  and  stepped  swiftly 
after  the  two  receding  figures.  The  rain  so  pelted  down 
upon  pavement  and  gutter,  that  Frederick  and  Eugenie 
did  not  hear  his  footsteps  even  when  he  drew  close 
behind  them,  but  went  on  with  their  talk,  arm  in  arm, 
with  theip  faces  very  close  together,  as  must  needs  happen 
when  two  individuals  wish  to  converse  in  storm-time 
under  a  limited  umbrella.  Although  they  had  had  such 
a  start  of  the  eaves-dropper,  it  was  already  difficult  for 
him  to  pick  up  the  thread  of  their  discourse,  interrupted, 
moreover,  as  it  was  by  the  same  cause  Avhich  enabled 
himself  to  remain  so  near  without  discovery. 

^^Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  came  here,  Mr.  Gralton  ?  "' 
Mrs.  Meyrick  was  saying.  "  It  must  have  seemed  a  very 
strange  thing  to  do.'' 

"  It  is  quite  unnecessary  to  speak  of  it,  Eugenie ;  I  have 
known  all  that  you  would  tell  me,  long,  long  ago.  Gener- 
ous— "  Here  the  listener  slipping  upon  a  loose  stone  in 
the  pavement,  received  a  douche-bath  from  below,  and 
was  thrown  out  by  the  interruption  for  the  next  twent; 
words;  and  twenty  words  left  out  in  a  conversation  i>' 
which  we  do  not  possess  the  key,  makes  the  scent  rather 
cold.  How  was  this  too  curious  wretch  to  know  that 
the  last  subject  had  been  dropped  very  suddenly  and  the 
topic  of  old  Dr.  Hermann  promptly  introduced  by  Fred- 
erick to  supplv  the  hiatus  ? 

99 


354  MAERIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

"  Dear,  kind  maD  I  "  returned  Mrs.  Meyrick.  "  That 
v/as  a  very,  very  happy  time." 

If  the  fellow  who  was  thus  dogging  the  unconscious 
pair,  had  in  reality  received  that  '^  facer  "  which  his  base- 
ness so  richly  deserved,  it  could  scarcely  have  staggered 
him  more  than  did  those  few  words.  He  started  back, 
and  glared  upon  the  speaker,  as  she  slowly  increased  her 
distance  from  him,  like  one  who  has  caught  it  "  well  from 
the  shoulder."  He  had  not  an  intelligent  countenance, 
but  a  countenance  does  not  require  much  intelligence  to 
express  concentrated  hate. 

"  Dear  kind  devil !  "  muttered  he,  through  his  clenched 
teeth.  "And  I  have  thought  sometimes  I  was  pretending 
to  be  jealous  only  to  frighten  her.  It  was  well  I  tracked 
her  here."  A  cab  dashed  up  to  him,  and  its  driver, 
attired  in  some  shining  waterproof  garment,  cried  :  "All 
right,  jump  in,  sir." 

The  young  man  answered  him  with  a  curse,  and  began 
to  walk  hurriedly  on. 

"'  Why,  you  scaly  warmint,"  said  the  cabman,  keeping 
beside  him  at  a  trot,  "  what  d'yer  mean,  then,  by  hailing 
this  here  vehicle  with  your  stupid  arm  working  about 
like  a  mad  semaphore?  You  should  wear  a  straight- 
jacket,  you  should,  leastways  unless  you've  got  plenty  of 
sixpences  to  pay  for  calling  people  off  the  rank.  Darn 
ye,  but  you  shall  pay  !  "  Here  he  drove  off  at  a  gallop, 
catching  sudden  sight  of  the  pair  in  advance,  and  rightly 
judging  that  any  two  in  the  bush — his  possible  fares — 
were  greatly  preferable  to  the  ill-conditioned  bird  at 
present  in  hand.  The  latter,  perceiving  his  purpose,  stood 
still,  and  watched  Frederick  place  Eugenie  in  the  vehicle; 
watched  him  close  the  umbrella,  as  though  he  would  have 
entered  after  her;  watched  her  shake  her  head  and  smile; 
watched  her  gloved  hand  thrilst  forth  from  the  window, 
taken  into  Frederick's  palm,  and  raised  to  his  lips. 

"I  shall  see  you  to-morrow;  be  sure  you  come,"  were 
the  last  words  spoken  at  the  farewell.  Eugenie  raised 
her  voice  so  as  to  drown  the  noise  of  the  wheels,  and  they 


DRAWING -KOOM     .V  \  i>     SECOXB     l-r>OOR       '600 

readied  not  only  Frederick  Galton'Sj  for  whom  tliey  were 
intended,  but  the  ears  of  her  husband,  John  Mevri(.*k, 
also. 

"To-morrow,  you  jade,''  hissed  he,  as  he  turned  upon 
his  heel,  and  hastily  retraced  his  steps;  "something  may 
happen  then  which  is  not  in  your  programme.  If,  instead 
of  that  Shylock  trash,  we  could  have  that  scene  1  saw  at 
the  play  the  other  night,  where  the  black  man  strangles 
liis  wife !  Damn  me,  but  I  would  act  it  to  the  life,  and 
stop  your  cooing  for  good  and  all.'' 


CHAPTER    XXXYIII. 

THE    DEATTIXG-ROOM    AXD   SECOXD    FLOOR. 

THERE  is  an  offensive  story,  often  quoted  against 
private  theatricals,  which  relates  that  a  great  pro- 
fessional actor  having  been  indiscreetly  asked  his  opinion 
regarding  the  merits  of  a  certain  amateur  performance, 
and  having^  in  vain  declined  to  o^ive  it,  delivered  himself 
thus  :  "You  ask  me,  Mr.  Stage- manager,  which  of  your 
admirable  company  I  like  best;  well,  without  being  in- 
vidious, I  must  say  I  prefer  your  prompter." 

"  Dear  me,  sir,  why  the  prompter  ?  " 

^'Because  I  have  seen  least  of  him,  and  heard  most  of 

This  is  bitter  satire,  but  private  theatricals  have  man- 
aged to  survive  it.  The  fact  is,  that  the  sarcasm  is 
founded  upon  the  mistaken  notion,  that  it  is  the  audience 
which  our  amateur  company  desire  to  please;  whereas 
their  primary,  if  not  their  sole  intention  is  to  please  them- 
selves. The  one  or  two  nights  in  which  they  give  their 
final  representation,  are  indeed  devoted  to  the  former 
object.     But  the  real  charm  in  the  undertaking  lies  in 


356  .\i  A  R  R  I  E  D      BENE  A  T  H      li  I  M  . 

the  details  of  ^^  profl action  ; "  in  the  mistakes  at  rehearsals, 
in  the  going  to  school  again  with  channiug  young  vromen 
for  our  teachei^,  and  in  the  Bohemian  and  unconventional 
manner  in  which  an  acting  company  must  needs  live 
together.  There  is  no  pleasanter  way  of  passing  a  few 
weeks'  holidays  than  as  one  of  a  corps  dramatlque  which 
has  been  gathered  together  in  some  country-house  to 
entertain  the  "  county  "  at  the  month's  end,  and  in  the 
meantime  to  entertain  one  another.  The  very  makeshifts 
and  contrivances  which  it  is  necessary  to  employ  in  our 
improvised  Theatre-royal,  afford  intense  amusement;  so 
does  the  stage  love-making,  so  often  prolonged  beyond 
the  dramatic  season  ;  the  being  husband,  lover,  uncle,  and 
all  sorts  of  relations,  to  persons  of  the  other  sex  whom  we 
have  never  before  set  eyes  on  in  our  lives;  the  impossi- 
bility of  remembering  some  ridiculous  speech  out  of  the 
farce  at  the  right  moment,  and  the  certainty  of  its  recur- 
ring with  extreme  importunit\'  at  the  most  untimely 
seasons,  such  as  during  that  choral  service  which  the 
Tractarian  rector  has  instituted  in  the  village  church  ;  the 
application  of  gold-leaf  to  the  elaborate  playbills — one  of 
the  most  charming  occupations  in  which  male  and  female 
labor  ever  combined ;  and  the  having  one's  eyebrows 
corked  and  one's  moustaches  adjusted  by  a  lovely  female 
standing  on  tiptoe,  and  regarding,  head  aside,  the  eflPect 
of  her  artist  touches.  All  ^  this  is  delightful,  but  the 
bliss  is  peculiar  to  the  country  ;  in  town,  I  humbly  submit 
that  private  theatricals  are  a  mistake.  The  Londoners 
seem  to  be  aware  of  this,  and  rarely  hazard  comparisons, 
in  their  own  private  houses,  with  the  performances  at  the 
theatres.  They  confine  themselves  to  charades  (a  hateful 
institution),  or  tal)leaux,  or  detached  scenes;  these  last 
being  generally  determined  upon  in  order  to  bring  out 
some  gentleman  who  has  peculiar  views  as  to  the  delinea- 
tion of  a  character  like  that  of  Hamlet,  and  who  intends 
to  cause  Fechter  to  be  forgotten. 

If  M.  de  I^ernay  had  any  views  respecting  the  imper- 
sonation of  Shylock,  they  were   undoubtedly  peculiar ; 


DRA  U  l.No-iMJU.M      A:Ni)       >LLy)SD       FLOOK.      357 

l)ut,  to  do  luQi  justice,  he  had  none  at  all.  His  proposal 
to  take  to  the  part  was  but  the  whim  of  tiie  moment,  and 
would  not  have  been  carried  out  but  for  the  opposition 
which  it  met  with,  and  which  piqued  him.  If  he  had 
seriously  considered  the  question  of  asking  Frederick 
Gralton  to  Park  Lane,  he  would  probably  have  dismissed 
it  as  an  inconvenient,  if  not  a  dangerous  step.  But  the 
suggestion,  fallen  from  him  without  reflection,  had  been 
received  with  such  extreme  disfavor  that  the  old  despot 
made  up  his  mind  to  carry  his  point  at  all  hazards.  It 
would  never  do,  reasoned  he,  to  let  John  Meyrick  re- 
assert himself  as  master  of  his  own  house.  The  French- 
man, indeed,  considered  his  own  position  with  respect  to 
this  good-for-nought  as  very  similar  to  that  of  a  horse- 
breaker  with  a  vicious  and  powerful  steed  ;  he  must  not 
suffer  such  a  hard-mouthed  runaway  to  get  his  head  again 
even  for  once.  I  do  not  say  that  this  course  was  not  a 
very  proper  one  in  respect  to  Mr.  John  Meyrick,  had  he 
been  alone  concerned  in  the  matter ;  but  M.  de  Lernay, 
intoxicated  with  power,  and  rejoicing  in  the  exercise  of  it 
to  the  uttermost,  forgot  that  his  victim  was  also  his  son-in- 
law.  What  Eugenie  suffered  while  her  father  thus 
reigned  supreme,  none  will  ever  know  till  that  great  Day 
of  Revelation,  in  which  the  blackest  page  of  human 
wickedness  will  perhaps  be  found  among  the  stainless 
records  of  married  life. 

Since  it  had  thus  been  decided  that  the  long  inter- 
rupted accjuaintance  with  Frederick  Galton  was  to  be 
renewed,  the  ever-smouldering  embers  of  jealousy  in 
John  Meyrick's  heart  had  burst  into  lurid  flame.  If  he 
had  not  given  up  drink,  as  Eugenie  had  hinted,  for  the 
more  complete  reception  of  this  passion,  drink  at  least 
had  failed  to  quench  it.  He  had  watched,  and  spied, 
and  tracked  his  unhai)py  wife,  until  at  last  the  wicked 
fool  had  heard,  as  he  imagined,  with  his  own  ears,  the 
truth  of  his  suspicions.  He  had  no  idea  of  the  real 
reason  which  had  taken  his  wife  to  Somers  Town ;  he 
had  marked  her  furtively  leave  her  home,  and  followed 


358  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

her  to  the  cab-stand  from  which  she  had  been  driven  to 
Frederick's  house ;  she  little  knew  that  her  husband  was 
never  more  than  thirty  yards  behind  the  vehicle  during 
tliat  long  drive.  He  had  stopped  his  own  cab  short  of 
the  door,  and  concealing  himself,  as  has  been  described, 
in  a  congenial  hiding-place,  had  met  the  fate  of  most 
eaves-droppers,  in  making  himself  miserable  upon 
grounds  misunderstood  as  well  as  insufficient.  Wretched 
and  furious,  he  had  betaken  himself  to  his  old  weakness 
— brandy ;  whether  as  a  means  of  temporary  forgetful- 
ness,  or  in  order  to  nerve  himself  for  some  terrible 
revenge,  it  matters  not.  At  all  events,  he  had  overdone 
the  dose,  and  been  brought  home  early  on  the  morning 
of  the  theatricals  in  a  state  of  hopeless  stupefaction. 
His  valet  had  put  him  to  bed  in  his  dressing-roOm  (as 
he  had  often  done  before)  with  the  remark,  that  he  had 
never  knowed  master  "  cut  so  deep ;  "  and  there  he  lay 
all  through  the  ensuing  day.  The  fashionable  world, 
which  demands  so  much,  does  not  re  juire  that  the  giver 
of  any  entertainment  should  himself  be  present,  so  long 
as  there  is  a  sufficiency  of  things  more  needful ;  and 
they  listened  to  the  mournful  intelligence  that  Mr. 
Meyrick  was  too  indisposed  to  dispense  his  own  hospi- 
tality with  the  most  philosophic  equanimity.  The 
reception-rooms  rang  no  less  with  polite  laughter,  nor 
did  the  drawing-room  audience  withhold  their  applause 
at  the  Shakspearian  representation. 

M.  de  Lernay  had  '^  made  up"  for  Shylock  to  ad- 
miration ;  no  detective,  however  skilled  in  unmask- 
ino;  the  human  face  divine,  could  have  reco2:nized  the 
features  of  the  airy  Frenchman  beneath  his  borrowed 
beard  and  brows.  So  charmed  Avas  he  himself  with 
the  impersonation,  that  he  maintained  his  disguise 
throughout  the  evening,  when  dancing  had  long  been 
substituted  for  tiie  drama,  and  the  other  performers 
did  the  like.  I  don't  think  Mr.  Jonathan  .Johnson 
quite  approved  of  masquerading  to  this  extent,  but 
he   was    never   suffered    to   conclude    his    sentence    of 


DEAWIXG-EOOM    AXD    SECOND    FLOOR.     359 

objection,  beginning  with  '^What^s  the  goo — goo — 
good — '^ 

'"'  ^  Til  not  ansicer  that,' '' 

quoted  M.  de  Lernay,  with  Judaic  accent; 

'' '  £vt  say  it  is  my  humor     .... 

Yet  can  I  give  no  reason,  nor  Twill  not.'  " 

Mr.  Percival  Potts,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not  dis- 
pleased to  strut,  an  hour  or  two  longer,  upon  the  social 
stage,  as  Duke  of  Venice. 

As  for  Portia,  the  universal  female  voice  decreed  that 
Frederick  should  remain  the  lady-lawyer  he  had  played 
so  faultlessly,  and  that  without  rehearsal. 

"'You  irress  me  far,  and  therefore  T  uill  yield,'  " 

he  had  answered,  gallantly,  in  Shakspeare's  words,  and 
kept  his  wig  and  gown  on.  This  personation  of  the 
assumed  characters  was  a  good  idea,  for  it  did  awav  with 
that  stiff-backed  monotony  which  is  the  curse  of  our 
social  entertainments,  and  which  led  one  of  our  modern 
statesmen  to  sigh  forth  :  "Ah,  what  a  happy  thing  would 
life  be  but  for  its  amusements,  and  especially  if  there 
were  no  such  thing  as  a  Mittle  music  ^  in  the  world  I " 
It  was  altogether  a  very  pleasant  party,  and  a  decided 
success.  The  ordinary  guests  did  not  leave  until  dav 
had  dawned ;  and  those  who  had  taken  part  in  the  per- 
formance until  much  later.  M.  de  Lernay,  who  liad 
played  the  host  with  uncommon  grace,  would  not  hear 
of  their  earlier  separation  :  "  I  have  scarcely  touched  a 
bit  of  supper  all  night,''  said  he ;  "  if  I  am  not  to  have 
my  pound  of  flesh,  at  least  let  me  have  some  chicken 
salad,  and  pay  me  the  compliment  of  sitting  down  witli 
me — your  Grace  the  Duke,  Antonio,  and  the  rest,  come, 
a  parting  glass  of  champagne,  an'  you  love  me.'' 

Quite  a  different  sort  of  scene  from  this  was  enacting 
up-stairs.     The  real  host  had  come  to  his  senses  early  in 


360  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

the  evening,  and  had  risen  and  dressed  himself.  When 
all  was  done,  he  caught  sight  of  himself  in  the  cheval 
glass,  and  then  turned  it  to  the  wall.  There  was  some- 
thing in  his  own  face  that  terrified  him,  and  being  afraid 
that  others  would  see  it,  he  did  not  venture  down-stairs. 
The  noise  of  music  and  laughter  came  up  to  him  in  gusts 
as  the  doors  below  happened  to  be  opened,  and  his 
countenance  grew  harder  and  harder  as  he  listened. 
'^  He  would  change  all  that  presently — yes,  by  Heaven, 
he  would — and  with  a  vengeance."  Would  he?  A 
dampness  settled  on  his  brow.  He  was  dwelling  upon 
some  image  of  horror  conjured  up  in  his  own  mind. 
With  shaking  fingers  he  unlocked  a  little  cabinet  that 
stood  by  the  bedside;  it  was  a  bijou  of  a  cabinet,  in- 
tended to  hold  some  of  the  elegancies  of  the  toilet,  but 
what  it  did  hold  was  a  bottle  of  brandy  and  a  wine- 
glass. He  helped  himself  once — twice.  "Curse  the 
people,  would  they  never  go  ?  "  The  early  dawn  poured 
into  the  room,  showing  everything  with  painful  distinct- 
ness, for,  since  he  had  been  put  to  bed  in  the  daytime, 
the  shutters  had  not  been  closed.  The  carriages  which 
had  been  conveying  away  the  guests  unceasingly  for  some 
time  grew  few  and  far  between.  The  last  had  surely 
driven  away  by  this  time.  He  raised  the  window,  and 
looked  out:  no,  there  was  one  carriage  waiting  still,  the 
brougham  wdiich  Mr.  Percival  Potts  had  set  upon  the 
strength  of  his  connection  with  the  ministry.  "Well, 
he  would  perhaj^s  have  something  to  put  in  the  second 
edition  of  his  paper  that  evening."  The  aroma  of 
tobacco  was  wafted  upward  from  beneath  the  porch. 
Two  young  men  stepped  forth,  one  of  whom  Meyrick 
recognized  as  an  old  college  accpiaintance. 

"  Let  me  take  a  light  from  your  cigar,"  observed  the 
other,  who  v/as  a  stranger,  and  they  stopped  under  the 
window.  "What  a  jolly — puff,  puff — evening  we've 
had.  I'm  deuced  glad  I  v/ent,  much  obliged  to  you  for 
taking  me.  What  a  stunner  that  Mrs.  Meyrick  is! 
Which  was  her  husband?" 


BEAWIXG-ROOM    AND    SECOND    FLOOR.     3G1 

"He  was  not  there  at  all/'  answered  the  man  known 
to  Meyrick ;  ■' they  said  he  was  ill.  I  believe  he  is 
killing  hiaiself  with  brandy,  and,  between  ourselves,  a 
good  job  too.'' 

"Then  she'll  marry  again,  I'll  bet;  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  the  man  would  be  that  fellow  \vho  played 
Portia — Galton,  I  think  they  called  him — what's  that? 
I  thought  I  heard  somebody  swearing." 

John  Meyrick  drew  in  his  head,  and  crouching  down 
beneath  the  window-sill,  like  a  wild  beast  in  its  covert, 
heard  their  footsteps  die  away.  Then  he  opened  a  door 
which  .communicated  with  his  wife's  bed-room,  and 
looked  in  with  wolfish  eyes. 

It  was  a  chamber  fitted  up  with  the  utmost  luxury, 
and,  but  for  the  presence  of  the  bed,  might  have  been  a 
drawing-room.  Even  the  bed  was  a  thing  of  beauty  fit 
for  rarest  dreams ;  the  coverlet  of  satin,  and  the  pillows 
— "the  widowed  marriage  pillows" — trimmed  with  ex- 
quisite lace.  John  Meyrick  took  one  of  these  up  in  his 
hands  and  poised  it ;  but  presently  laying  it  in  its  place 
again,  climbed  up  on  a  velvet  chair,  and  took  down  a 
bell-pull  from  its  gilded  hinge.  It  was  a  rope  of  twisted 
silk,  slender,  but  very  strong.  In  this  he  made  a 
running  noose,  and  took  it  with  him  into  his  own 
room. 

As  he  passed  by  Eugenie's  dressing-table,  a  letter  stuck 
in  the  embroidered  pincushion  caught  his  eye;  the  con- 
tents of  it  were  of  no  great  importance,  and  were  known 
to  him ;  but  he  read  them  over  again,  and  his  features 
i-elaxed  a  little — -just  a  very  little — as  he  did  so.  The 
handwriting  was  that  of  Mrs.  Meyrick,  senior.  "  With- 
out mutual  concessions,  my  dear  Eugenie,"  she  wrote, 
"  married  life  can  never  be  happy."  "  My  poor  boy  has 
a  good  heart;  etc.,  etc."  Such  efforts  at  mediation 
were  about  as  useful  ais  sticking-plaster  for  healing  the 
leak  of  a  seventy-four;  but  the  attempt  exhibited  in 
every  line  the  undying  love  of  the  mother  for  her 
son. 


362  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

John  Meyrick  placed  the  rope  under  his  pillow,  and 
again  went  out  to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  All  was  quiet 
now,  save  that  an  airy  bubble  of  laughter  escaped  ever 
and  anon  from  the  dining-room,  where  M.  de  Lernay 
and  his  friends  were  having  their  rere-supper.  The 
watcher  took  oiT  his  shoes,  and  noiselessly  descended  to 
ilie  drawing-room ;  the  waxen  lights  in  the  brackets  and 
ciiandeliers  were  fighting  with  the  dawn  that  streamed  in 
through  many  a  cranny  of  the  gilded  shutters;  but  the 
l)rilliant  company  had  all  departed,  nor  was  there  any- 
body in  the  boudoir  adjoining,  where  half-a-dozen  flirta- 
tions had  been  proceeding  so  agreeably  an  hour  before. 
The  many  mirrors  reflected  but  one  stealthy  form,  and  a 
face  ghastly  pale,  with  the  mouth  worked  into  an  evil 
smile.  Did  an  echo  of  the  cooing  talk  which  had  so 
lately  been  held  there  still  linger  about  the  fauteuils  and 
conversation-chairs,  or  was  that  a  real  voice  vrhich  struck 
his  ear?  It  was  a  real  voice,  and  his  wife's!  She  was 
talking  to  somebody  in  i\\Q  conservatory  beyond.  He 
stole  on  to  the  window-mirror,  and  glued  his  white  face 
to  the  glass.  Yes,  it  was  Eugenie.  The  sickly  light  of 
the  Chinese  lanterns  that  swung  above  was  quenched  in 
the  full  effulgence  of  the  morning,  which  streamed  upon 
her  from  an  open  window.  >7ot  half-a-dozen  young 
women  in  all  London  would  have  dared  to  welcome 
Phoebus  thus  after  a  whole  night's  revel ;  but  if  she 
had  just  risen  from  her  couch  after  refreshing  sleep, 
or  newly  come,  like  Aphrodite,  from  the  enamoured 
wave,  she  could  not  have  looked  more  fresh  and 
fair. 

By  her  side  was  a  young  man  in  a  strange  dress  and 
wig,  but  ^leyrick  recognized  him  at  once — his  foe  and 
rival,  Frederick  Galton. 

She  was  gathering  a  bouquet  for  him  to  take  home  to 
Mary  in  flowerless  Somers  Town. 

"Stay,  do  not  rob  your  greenhouse,"  returned  Fred- 
erick; "let  me  have  those  in  your  own  bouquet- 
holder." 


DRA^VING-ROOM     AXD     SECOND     FLOOE.     363 

" '  Do  not  draw  back  your  hand  ;  111  take  no  more. 
And  you  in  love  shall  not  deny  me  this.'  " 

"  But  these  are  fading,"  returned  she. 

"What  matter  for  that?  Their  chief  value  will, 
I  am  sure,  be  held  to  be  that  you  carried  them  all 
night." 

"  Then  take  the  bouquet-holder,  too,"  said  she,  "  and 
with  it  my  kindest  love. — And  now  I  must  wish  good- 
night to  ray  father,  and  then — " 

The  spy  had  but  just  time  to  reach  the  drawing-room 
door,  ere  that  of  the  boudoir  opened.  He  flew  up-stairs 
with  stockinged  feet,  and  leaped  into  the  bed  he  had 
lately  cpiitted,  and  drew  the  clothes  up  to  his  ears ;  and 
there  he  lay,  touching  the  silken  rope  beneath  his  pillow 
with  his  hand,  to  make  sure  it  was  there,  and  waiting — 
waiting. 

Minute  after  minute  Avent  by,  each  minute  an  hour. 
His  temples  beat  and  throbbed  as  though  they  held  a 
peal  of  bells  within  them,  and  the  murderous  fingers 
grew  damp  and  clammy.  Another  wine-glass  of  brandy 
for  his  parched  and  aching  throat.  At  last  there  is  a 
rustle  of  silk,  and  a  weary,  weary  step  toiling  up  the 
stairs.  A  thousand  sparks  seemed  to  fly  before  his 
tightly-closed  eyes ;  that  is  because  his  brain  is  on  fire ; 
but  he  knows  very  well  what  is  taking  place;  nay,  more, 
what  is  going  to  happen.     His  wife  is  coming  up-stairs. 


364  MAEKIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

THE   AFTER-SUPPER. 

THE  pleasantest  part  of  an  evening  entertainment  to 
host  and  hostess  is,  perhaps,  after  the  last  carriage 
has  been  driven  away  with  its  complement  of  congratu- 
lating guests,  to  hear  the  comments  of  more  intimate 
friends  who  may  be  staying  in  the  house  in  corroboration 
of  the  fact,  that  the  whole  thing  has  gone  off  well.  Each, 
as  he  takes  up  his  candlestick  to  light  him  to  his  room, 
has  kindly  words  to  mingle  with  his  "good-night,"  which 
cements  the  bond  of  friendship.  One  fcels  certain  that  he 
or  she  at  least  can  never  have  sympathized  with  the  ill- 
natured  remarks  of  that  horrid  'Sir  Benjamin  Backbite, 
or  of  that  still  worse  Lady  Sneerwell,  towards  whom  our 
eye  wandered  so  often  during  the  evening  in  smiling 
hatred ;  while  if  any  of  these  charming  personages  express 
an  inclination  for  just  one  more  glass  of  champagne,  how^ 
hospitably  do  we,  the  host,  lead  them  down  to  the 
deserted  supper-room,  and  how  cheerful  a  hidf-hour  is 
consumed  while  the  ladies  are  undergoing  the  mysteries 
of  retirement,  or,  cpiite  as  probably,  chatting  together  in 
each  other's  apartments. 

M.  de  Lernay  had  never  been  more  brilliant.  Mr. 
Jonathan  Johnson  had  never  spoken  in  such  consecutive 
syllables,  Mr.  Percival  Potts  had  never  omitted  for  so 
lengthened  a  period  to  boast  of  his  confounded  family,  as 
during  the  little  after-supper  which  the  Frenchman  had 
proposed.  The  rest  of  the  late  actors  showed  themselves 
fully  equal  to  the  situation  ;  and  when  Eugenie,  accom- 
panied by  Frederick  Galton,  came  down  to  wish  them  all 
good-night,  it  was  with  one  voice  that  they  insisted  upon 
their  fair  hostess — for  v,-hom  somebody  was  waiting  so 
impatiently  above  stairs — taking  her  seat  among  them, 


THE     A  F  T  E  K -.s  U  P  P  E  R  .  b<JO 


if  it  were  but  for  five  minutes,  and  gracing  their  some- 
what high-wrought  revelry. 


"'Grant  us  tv:o  things,^  " 

quoth  Bassanio,  a  common-law  barrister  in  excellent 
practice,  and  as  much  given  to  fun  as  fees, 

"  *Xot  to  deny  us,  and  to  pardon  us.'  " 

"  It  is  very  late  already,  sir,''  returned  she,  smiling ; 
"and  I  am  afraid  your  good  wife,  who  left  you  here 
with  reluctance,  remember,  will  blame  me  for  making 
you  more  dissipated  than  you  are  naturally  inclined 
to  be.'' 

"  '  We  all  have  ivives,  whom  ice  protest  ue  love,' " 

returned  Gratiano,  a  newly  married  but  by  no  means 
juvenile  conveyancer,  "still,  on  such  occasions  as  the 
present — 

"'We  u-ish  they  were  in  Heaven.'  " 

"  These  be  the  Christian  husbands  !  "  exclaimed  Shy- 
lock,  laughing.  "  I  have  a  daughter — "  Here  his  voice 
sank  and  quavered  like  a  harp-string  that  has  lost  its 
tension. 

"  It  is  well,"  whispered  Jonathan  Johnson,  to  his  next 
neighbor,  "  that  de  Lernay  does  not  fif — fif — finish  his 
quo— quo — quo,  does  not  finish  his  quotation." 

"  Yery  true,"  returned  Percival  Potts  :  "  the  old  fellow 
seems  dreadfully  conscious  of  having  been  about  to  put 
his  foot  in  it.  How  odd  and  old  he  has  begun  to  look  ! 
I  suppose  it's  his  beard.  Shall  I  propose  his  health,  and 
so  get  him  out  of  his  difficulty  ?  " 

There  was  a  rattling  of  glasses  and  beating  of  fingers 
upon  the  table  as  the  sub-editor  rose. 

The  fun  was  getting  a  little  too  boisterous,  and  Eu- 
genie slipped  out  of  the  room  while  every  face  was  turned 


366  M  A  E  E  I  E  D      B  E  X  E  A  T  H     H  I  Af  . 

towards  her  father.  He  sat  quite  still  in  his  place  with- 
out speaking,  without  moving  his  head  while  the  cheer- 
ing lasted,  and  even  after  it  had  died  away.  All  v/ere 
then  silent,  awaiting  a  brilliant  speecii  that  did  not  come. 

"  We  all  expect  a  gentle  ansirer,  Jew,'^  quoth  Percival 
Potts. 

"Ilath  not  a  Jew  eyes/  Hath  not  a  Jew  ears?^^  be- 
gan Bassanio,  who  sat  next  the  host.  Then  all  of  a 
sudden  his  voice  congealed  with  horror.  ^^  By  Heaven, 
he  is  dying  ! "  cried  he.  "  He  has  had  a  fit  or  something. 
Run  for  a  doctor — run  I "         , 

The  guests  leaped  to  their  feet,  and  crowded  round 
the  unhappy  Frenchman.  His  disguise  and  the  general 
merriment  had  hitherto  prevented  any  one  from  remark- 
ing what  had  happened  ;  but  to  the  affrighted  eyes  which 
now  scanned  him  narrowly  enough,  it  was  evident  that 
he  had  had  some  kind  of  stroke  which  paralysed  half 
his  features. 

.  ^^  Hush  !  be  quiet,''  said  Frederick,  gravely.  "  Let  us 
get  him  to  his  own  room,  and,  for  Heaven's  sake/  keep 
his  daughter  from  this  sight.'' 

"  I  am  sure,"  replied  Eugenie,  calmly,  whom  the  cry 
of  ^^ Run,  run  for  a  doctor!"  had  reached  on  the  very 
threshold  of  her  own  chamber,  '^  I  am  sure  I  shall  not 
be  in  the  ^vay  ;  you  may  trust  me,  .indeed  you  may,  but 
I  must  never  be  kept  from  him ;  my  place  is  henceforth 
by  his  bedside." 

Every  man  was  deeply  moved  and  sorrow-stricken ; 
yet,  as  they  carried  him  up-stairs  in  his  strange  habit, 
speechless  and  motionless,  it  seemed  almost  like  some 
hideous  carnival  procession  making  a  mockery  of  death. 
Something  of  the  sort  seemed  to  strike  Eugenie  herself, 
for  when  the  doctor  had  arrived,  she  declined,  with 
thanks  for  their  sympathy,  all  further  aid.'  So,  the 
masqueraders  went  below,  and  resuming  their  ordinary 
garments,  issued  forth  into  the  early  morning  air,  think- 
ing and  talking  of  matters  that  were  not  very  often 
present  to  the  minds  of  any  of  them. 


THE     Y  I  G  J  L  .  '^67 

"His  gibes,  his  songs,  his  Bashes  of  merriment  are 
done,  ]30or  fellow,  I  fear  forever,'*'  said  Percival  Potts, 
as  he  linked  his  arm  with  that  of  Johnson.  "  This  is 
an  end  to  our  evening's  pleasure  that  might  stagger  the 
most  philosophic;  young  Galton  seems  half  out  of  his 
mind  with  it.  Let  us  ask  the  lad  to  walk  with  us  a 
little  way— he  is  scarcely  fit  to  be  left  to  his  own  com- 
panv." 

But  Frederick  declined  to  do  so.  "  I  shall  go  into  the 
park  for  a  little  fresh  air,"  said  he,  "  and  try  to  shake 
off  all  this  horror."  It  was  too  early  for  the  gates  to  be 
opened,  so  he  climbed  over  the  railings,  as  he  had  done 
once  before. 


"O 


CHAPTEPv    XL. 

THE     YIGIL. 

FATHER,"  writes  our  greatest  living  poet, 

"  Wheresoe'er  thou  be 
That  pledgest  now  thy  gallant  ?on,' 
A  shot,  ere  half  thy  draught  be  done, 
Hath  stilled  the  life  that  beat  from  thee." 


Even  while  the  mother's  head  is  bowed  in  prayer  that 
God  will  save  her  sailor-boy,  his  heavy-shotted  ham- 
mock-shroud drops  in  his  vast  and  wandering  grave; 
and  while  the  maiden  decks  her  golden  hair  to  please 
her  expected  lover — nay,  at  the  very  instant  when,  hav- 
ing left  the  glass,  she  "turns  to  set  a  ringlet  right,  her 
future  lord  is  drowned  in  passing  tlirough  the  fbrd,  or 
killed  in  falling  from  his.  horse.  There  is  fortunately 
no  spiritual  telegraph  to  communicate  the  coincidences 
of  pleasure  and  pain,  of  prosperity  and  wretchedness,  of 
life  and  deatli,  which  are  continually  taking  place  among 


368  MARE  I  ED     BENEATH     HIM. 

US,  or  we  should  be  always  in  a  state  of  feverish  ex- 
pectation. Even  the  frequent  thought,  "^  What  is  my 
dear  boy  doing  now?"  gives  many  a  mother  the  heart- 
ache. In  general,  she  distresses  herself  unnecessarily — 
for  even  boys  are  not,  at'  all  times,  getting  into  scrapes — 
and  feels  securest  at  the  very  time  when,  to  use  his  own 
forcible  expression,  tlie  young  gentleman  is  "  coming  his 
greatest  cropper.'^  Some  weak-minded  people,  relying 
upon  this  fact,  are  always  striving  to  anticipate  calamities 
— "speculating  for  the  fall,''  as  tbey  call  it  in  the  City — ^^ 
picturing  to  themselves  the  occurrence  of  every  sort 
of  calamity,  under  the  impression  that  all  evil  will  be 
evaded,  just  as  other  persons  carry  an  umbrella  in  order 
to  overrule  the  pluvial  designs  of  Providence ;  but  mis- 
fortune comes,  and  that  suddenly,  and  whence  the  most 
sagacious  looked  not  for  it,  as  the  thunder-cloud  gathers 
and  breaks  in  the  loveliest  autumn  blue. 

Little  guesses  Mary  Galton,  sitting  in  her  lonely  bed- 
chamber in  Somers  Town,  on  the  night  that  her  husband 
is  playing  in  the  stage-scene,  what  a  terrible  part  he  is 
enacting  in  the  drama  of  real  life. 

She  can  imagine,  and  does  so,  although  vaguely  enough, 
the  gay  company  and  glittering  rooms:  the  a})plause 
which  he  cannot  fail  to  command,  as  he  speaks  this  and 
that — for  she  has  made  up  for  her  unfortunate  mistake, 
and  knows  the  whole  role  of  Portia  by  this  time  as  well  as 
he  does.  But  she  does  not,  of  course,  dream  of  the  sad  con- 
clusion of  the  supper-party,  and  far  less  of  what  is  hap- 
pening afterwards.  She  has  not  gone  to  bed,  because  she 
has  got  such  great  and  glorious  news  to  tell  her  darling 
Frederick,  that  she  could  not  sleep  a  vrink  until  she  has 
disburdened  her  mind  of  the  great  tidings.  He  had 
scarcely  left  the  house,  in  order  to  dine  early  in  Park  Lane, 
and  take  part  in  a  dress  rehearsal  (for  they  did  have 
one  rehearsal  after  all,  without  which  the  knife  for  anato- 
mising Antonio  would,  for  one  thing,  have  been  clean 
forgotten),  when  a  letter  arrived  for  Mrs.  Frederick 
Galton  with  the  Casterton  post-mark.    ''  My  dear  Mary," 


THE     VIGIL.  369 

it  began  ;  and  ended  with,  "Your  penitent  uncle,  Robert 
Morrit.'^  It  breathed  throughout  a  spirit  of  most  generous 
self-reproach  and  affectionate  conciliation,  and  enclosed 
a  cheque  for  five  hundred  pounds.  The  curate  was  not  a 
man  to  do  anything,  bad  or  good,  by  halves.  There  was 
to  be  no  more  poverty,  no  more  estrangement — no  more 
tor  row  at  all,  as  it  seemed  to  Mary. 

How  tenderly  she  kissed  her  child  as  she  laid  him  in 
his  cot  that  evening,  thanking  Heaven  that  he  at  least 
would  never  know  such  troubles  as  those  which  had  so 
lately  threatened  to  overwhelm  his  parents.  Then  put- 
ting on  her  dressing-gown,  she  sat  with  the  letter  in  her 
hand  weaving  the  brightest  future  that  her  fancy  could 
portray;  but  all  its  liveliest  colors  and  all  its  choicest 
gilding  were  spent  upon  her  husband,  and  for  herself 
she  kept  the  modest  russet  brown.  She  painted  him 
rich,  and  powerful,  and  famous — for  was  he  not  wise, 
and  great,  and  good  enough  already  ?  She  made  him 
sought  after  and  petted  by  the  noblest  in  the  land ;  she 
made  him  looked  up  to  by  the  people  ;  and  yet,  said  she, 
he  shall  not  love  me  less,  nor  be  ashamed  of  his  humble 
little  wife.  It  was  with  a  pardonable  pride  that  she" saw 
herself  received  in  Mr.  Morrit's  own  house  at  Casterton 
— the  invitation  lay  before  her — and  treated  with  be- 
coming respect  by  good  Aunt  Hartopp,  who  had  been 
wont  to  be  a  little  hard-with  her.  Hov;  charming  would 
a  visit  be  to  the  Round  at  Casterton  with  Frederick,  and 
how  they  would  recall  the  day  when  first  they  met  there  ! 
She  would  ask  him  whether  they  repented  of  that  meet- 
ing, standing  on  the  self-same  spot,  and  he  would  answer, 
"  Xo,''  pressing  his  dear  lips  to  hers.  The  cottage  at 
Oldborough  should  be  made  bright  with  many  a  present, 
long  thought  of,  but  inaccessible  heretofore,  except  to 
her  wishes.  Many  a  luxury  should  henceforth  surround 
her  mother;  many  a  volume  should  swell  the  library  of 
sister  Jane.  She  thought  of  Eugenie,  too,  between  whom 
and  herself  no  gulf  of  inequality  of  fortune  would  for 
the  future  exist  to  keep  their  lives  apart ;  how  she  pitied 
23 


370  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

her,  linked  to  that  rude  nature,  so  different  from  her 
own — for  Mary  had  heard  sad  stories,  while  at  Casterton, 
of  its  young  squire,  although  she  knew  nothing  of  his 
late  exploits.  How  tliankful,  thought  she,  ought  her- 
self to  be,  being  such  as  she  was,  to  have  secured  so  ad- 
mirable a  husband;  while  Eugenie,  so  gently  born,  so 
accomplished,  so  divinely  fair,  had  so  unfortunately 
w^edded.  This  was  not  a  pharisaical  reflection  ;  for  she 
not  only  admired  and  owned  the  infinite  superiority  of 
her  new  friend,  but  entertained  for  her  a  genuine  and 
affectionate  esteem  ;  her  honest  heart  no  longer  felt  the 
least  misgiving — the  slightest  taint  of  jealousy- — but 
while  she  tlwught  of  Eugenie,  her  mind  naturally  re- 
verted to  Frederick,  from  whom,  indeed,  it  never  ^yan- 
dered  far. 

The  night  was  now  far  advanced ;  at  the  hour  when 
the  stage-scene  was  to  be  enacted,  Mary  had  taken  up 
the  book,  and  made  herself,  as  far  as'  she  could,  a  spec- 
tator of  her  husband's  success;  but  now  the  acting  must 
have  long  been  over.  He  had  said  that  there  might  be 
dancing  afterwards ;  but  even  so,  now  that  the  day  was 
breaking,  he  must  surely  be  home  soon.  Two  o'clock — 
three  o'clock  !  Four !  Mrs.  Gideon  was  a  very  early 
riser,  and  might  herself  be  u])  and  about  soon.  There 
was  no  harm,  of  course,  in  her  husband's  coming  home 
at  that  time,  or- any  time  in  the  morning;  but  she  did 
not  want  that  woman  to  know  it.  The  clock  on  the 
stairs  struck  five.  Mary  was  now  no  linger  apprehensive 
about  Mrs.  Gideon ;  she  trembled  for  the  safety  of  her 
liusband.  What  if  he  had  met  with  some  terrible 
accident — been  run  over — murdered,  perhaps?  It  was 
too  terrible  to  think  of  Such  calamities  were  only  to  be 
found  in  novels.  The  sun  was  shining  broad  and  fair, 
and  the  birds — for  even  in  Somers  Town  there  are  many 
birds — were  chirping  and. singing.  Still,  a  pain  lies 
within  her — a  something  oppressive  sits  upon  her  brow 
and  brain.  She  had  kept  watch  too  long,  perhaps,  and 
is  worn  out:  that  must  be  it.     He  is  coming  at  last;  far 


THE     VIGIL.  371 

avrav  up  the  deserted  street  she  hears  that  well-known 
footfall.  AVhv,  then,  does  not  her  heart  leap  up  like  a 
bent  sapling  freed  from  the  cruel  cord?  She  knows  not 
why;  she  only  knows  that  it  is  tethered  still.  With 
trembling  limbs,  she  a])proaches  the  window,  which  has 
been  02)en  all  uight,  and  cautiously  peers  forth.  Yes,  it 
-is  her  husband ;  but  there  is  something  strange  about  his 
appearance,  that  strikes  her  with  vague  dismay.  As  he 
comes  quite  close,  she  perceives  that  his  clothes  are  damp 
and  shiny,  and  hang  about  him  tightly ;  not  a  drop  of 
rain  has  fallen  through  the  night,  and  yet  he  is  wet 
through.  As  he  puts  the  latch-key  noiselessly  into  the 
door,  she  catches  for  the  first  time  a  sight  of  his  coun- 
tenance, over  which  his  hat  has  been  slouched.  Can 
that  be  her  Frederick — the  same  bright,  glorious  being 
who  left  her  but  twelve  hours  ago,  with  a  kiss  and  a 
smile?  He  looks  as  though  he  could  never  smile  again. 
A  face  so  pale,  so  haggard,  so  perplexed  and  terrified, 
she  had  never  before  seen — a  face  so  terrible  in  its  mute 
agony,  that  she  feared  to  meet  it ;  but  throwing  off  the 
robe  in  which  she  had  been  sitting,  she  leaped  into  bed, 
and  turning  her  eyes  from  the  fierce  liglit  Avith  a  shudder, 
closed  them  in  feigned  skep. 

He  was  a  long  time  coming  up-stairs;  there  was  no 
noise  except  a  certain  "click,  click,"  for  which  she  could 
not  account ;  but  not  a  step  was  audible.  He  came  up 
with  his  shoes  in  his  hand,  and  she  heard  him  put  them 
down  very  carefully  upon  the  floor  of  his  own  little 
room.  Before  entering  that  apartment,  no  matter  what 
might  be  the  hour  of  his  return,  it  was  his  invariable 
custom  to  come  into  her  room  ;  she  had  entreated  him  to 
do  so,  protesting,  even  if  it  should  awaken  her,  that  the 
sleep  which  followed  was  always  more  refreshing  after 
she  had  been  assured  of  his  being  at  home  and  in  safety; 
but  upon  this  occasion  he  made  no  such  visit.  He  had 
never  taken  half  the  time  to  undress  before.  She  heard 
the  quick  spirt  of  a  match  and  then  the  crackling  of 
sticks;  what  could  he  possibly  v^ant  a  fire  for?     5lrs. 


872  MARRIED      BEXEATH     HIM. 

Gideon  kept  her  fires  laid  even  in  June,  because  it  did 
away  with  auy  necessity  for  grate  ornaments  ;  but  she 
never  intended  them  to  be  lit.  The  register  was  down, 
as  Mary  knew;  but  there  was  notliing  for  it  but  to  lie 
still ;  he  would  soon  find  that  out  for  himself.  But  a 
man  does  not  soon  find  out  the  cause  of  even  the  most 
ordinary  domestic  mischance,  and  a  good  deal  of — well 
— cursory  language  generally  takes  place  on  the  part  of 
a  master  of  a  house  left  to  his  own  devices,  before  the 
plumber,  or  the  glazier,  or  the  chimney-sweep,  is  sent  for 
to  put  things  to  rights.  Presently,  Frederick  opened  his 
window,  being  probably  half-smothered,  and  then — yes^ 
he  was  trying  to  put  the  register  back  with  the  poker. 
Poor,  clumsy  Frederick  !  how  Mary  longed  to  help  him; 
but  then  she  did  not  dare.  Something  told  her  that  he 
wished  to  be  alone,  and  that  she  should  not  know  of  his 
l)resence  in  that  room  at  all.  And  now  there  was  a 
smell  as  of  an  indifferently  conducted  laundry  establish- 
ment— the  drying  of  very  damp  cloth  garments.  Wiiy 
should  he  be  so  anxious  to  dry  his  own  clothes,  and  at 
such  an  hour  as  that?  What  could  he  have  been  doing? 
What  was  the  matter?  She  heard  Mrs.  Gideon  knock- 
ino;  at  the  dressino;-room  door.  "  Was  he  a-settin'  her 
liouse  on  fire  at  that  time  in  the  morning  ? ''  was  her  sar- 
castic inquiry,  as  though,  if  he  had  only  waited  until  a 
little  later,  arson  would  have  been  a  very  venial  crime, 
if  not  a  virtue. 

^^  It's  all  right,'^  returned  Frederick.  ^^  I  have  got  up 
to  do  some  writing,  Mrs.  Gideon,  and  have  cooked  my- 
self a  cup  of  coffee — that's  all."  He  did  keep  some 
excellent  coffee  in  his  dressing-room,  in  a  private  locker, 
into  which  the  larcenous  landlady  had  not  as  yet  been 
able  to  penetrate,  and  also  a  coffee-pot,  in  order  to  save 
appearances ;  but  the  coffee  was  only  there  for  security, 
not  for  use.  Mrs.  Gideon  appeared  satisfied,  although 
by  no  means  pleased,  with  this  reply ;  but  Mary  shud- 
dered at  her  husband's  deliberate  falsehood.  She  had 
never^  to  her  own  knowledge,  heard  him  tell  a  lie  before. 


THE     VIGIL.  373 

What  a  voice  he  spoke  with  too! — thin,  hollow  tones, 
that  strove  in  vain  to  be  cheery;  they  were  like  the  echo 
of  his  usual  speech,  rather  than  the  speech  itself.  A  few 
minutes  more,  and  he  was  in  the  bed-room.  He  trod 
softly  to  the  window,  and  pulled  the  shutters  together, 
which  had  not  been  closed  all  night.  She  was  glad  of 
that,  for  it  placed  her  in  shadow ;  still,  when  he  came  to 
the  bedside,  and  stooped  over  her,  to  kiss  her  forehead  as 
usual,  she  was  afraid  that  lier  quick,  frightened  breathing 
would  betray  that  she  was  not  asleep.  Asleep  !  If  the 
letter  beneath  her  pillow  had  been  sufficient  to  keep  her 
awake  thus  long,  with  its  little  budget  of  good  news, 
how  much  more  wakeful  did  she  feel  when  that  letter  and 
its  contents  had  sunk  to  nothing  in  comparison  with  the 
vague  but  intense  ^terror  that  seized  upon  her,  and  was 
shaking  every  limb  !  He  did  not,  however,  approach 
her,  but  lay  down  without  a  word ;  if  she  could  have 
seen,  she  would  have  known  that  he  did  not  even  look 
towards  her,  but  kept  his  eyes  carefully  averted ;  yet  he 
well  knew^,  by  that  .inexplicable  consciousness  which 
possesses  us  on  all  like  occasions,  that  the  seeming  sleeper 
was  not  asleep. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  woke  you,  Mary,"  said  he,  presently. 

^^Yes,  dear."  She  could  not  trust  herself  to  say 
more. 

^'It  is  very  late,"  he  continued;  ^'nearly  four,  I  saw^ 
as  I  came  up-stairs." 

He  had  been  putting  the  clock  back,  then,  and  more 
than  an  hour ;  that  was  the  noise  she  had  heard. 

"  What  has  happened,  Frederick,  love,  to  keep  you  so 
late??  She  spoke  wearily,  and  with  her  eyes  closed,  as 
though  his  answer  did  not  much  matter ;  but  her  heart 
beat  for  it  tumultuously,  and  she  feared  lest  she  should 
not  hear  it  when  it  came,  such  a  singing  was  in  her 
ears. 

"  Xothing,  love,"  he  said.  Then,  as  if  with  a  great 
effort  of  memory,  he  added :  "  Yes,  something  has 
happened ;  you  may  as  well  know  it  at  once.     Monsieur 


374  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

de  Lernay  has  had  a  severe  stroke  of  paralysis ;  it  took 
place  while  he  sat  at  the  supper-table." 

'^Alas,  alas  !  "  said  Mary  ;  "  God  help  him,  poor  man  ! 
How  very,  very  shocking  !  What  a  terrible  blow  it  will 
be  for  poor  Eugenie !  She  will  have  nobody  now  to 
take  her  part.     How  did  Mr.  Meyrick — " 

"  Don't  talk  any  more,  Mary,  just  now,"  interrupted 
Frederick,  hurriedly,  almost  harshly — "don't  do  it.  I 
want  rest,  rest,  rest !  " 

His  gaunt  and  hollow  features  gave  ample  witness 
that  therein  he  was  telling  the  truth.  But  although  his 
eves  were  firmly  closed,  and  his  body  remained  motion- 
less as  that  of  a  dead  man,  no  rest  came  to  Frederick 
Galton's  brain,  neither   then,  nor  for   many  a  night  to 


come. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

KIXD   INQUIRIES. 

ALL  next  day,  Frederick  kept  within  doors,  on  the 
J_\,  plea  of  illness.  Yet  he  rose  even  before  his  usual 
hour;  and  when  the  raaid-of-all-work  came  to  "do"  his 
room,  she  found  no  trace  of  drying  clothes  or  anything 
unusual.  But  he  spoke  and  moved  like  one  in  a  lethargy. 
He  seemed  to  take  a  second  or  two  to  compreliend  even 
the  most  ordinary  remark  that  was  addressed  to  him,  and 
if  uuaddressed,  he  looked  unconscious  of  what  was  passing 
about  him.  AYhen  Mary,  with  beaming  face,  communi- 
cated to  him  at  breakfast-time  the  glad  tidings  from  Cas- 
terton,  he  received  them  like  a  piece  of  foreign  intelli- 
gence in  the  Times,  which,  no  matter  how  large  letters  it 
may  be  printed  on,  does  not  much  disturb  our  private 
mind,     "  That's  good  news  indeed,"  said  he,  wringing  his 


KIXD     INQUIRIES.  375 

words  out  one  by  one ;  ^'  excellent  ne\ys.  Dear  Mary,  I 
am  so  glad  for  your  sake." 

He  let  her  rise  and  put  her  arms  about  his  neck,  but 
he  did  not  return  her  caress,  and  ap}3eared  but  little  more 
conscious  of  it  than  a  statue  that  is  being  garlanded  with 
flowers..  Then  a  sudden  suspicion  smote  through  Mary's 
breast  like  an  arrow  sharp  and  barbed — Frederick  had  be- 
come unfaithful  to  her;  he  had  at  last  met  with  that  some- 
body against  whom  they  used  to  warn  her — some  accom- 
plished brilliant  beauty,  worthy  of  his  choice — and  cared 
for  his  lowly  ignorant  w^ife  no  longer. 

"  Glad  of  it  for  my  sake  ! "  said  she,  piteously  ;  '^  and 
why  not  for  your  own  ?  Are  we  not  one,  Frederick, 
bound  up  together  for  life?  Does  not  joy  alight  on  us 
at  the  same  moment  ?  AVould  not  sorrow  or  shame 
strike  us  through  with  the  same  blow  ?  " 

Frederick  shuddered.  "Sorrow,'^  said  he,  "but  not 
shame,  wife.  If  I  did  some  terrible  and  heinous  act, 
you  ^vould  be  sorry,  IMary — very  sorry,  I  know — you 
might  even  blush  forme;  but  it  would  not  be  for  you 
whose  soul  is  unspotted,  to  feel  the  sting  of  shame-' 

Her  suspicion,  then,  was  too  true ;  but  at  all  events  he 
saw  his  error ;  he  v/as  sorry  ;  every  syllable  told  her  that 
he  repented  having  done  her  wrong. 

"Husband,"  returned  she,  "dear  husband,  I  do  not 
know  what  weight  is  on  your  mind  :  I  do  not  seek  to 
know.  But,  be  assured,  no  matter  what  it  is,  that  my 
great  love  would  help  to  bear  it  up.  If— if "  (here  she 
knelt  down  by  his  chair)  "  I  had  anything  to  forgive 
you,  Frederick,  would  I  not  do  so,  think  you?" 

"  Yes,  Mary,"  (he  did  not  take  his  hand  away  when 
she  strove  to  fondle  it,  but  his  fingers  gave  no  ans\vering 
clasp  or  touch),  "  I  do  believe  you  would  ;  you  are  not 
a  woman,  but  an  angel — although  too  good  for  me,  Mary. 
Most  women's  sins  are  rose-pink ;  most  men's,  scarlet ; 
but  the  wickedest  thought  that  you  ever  entertained  is 
Virtue's  self  compared  to  what  my  brain  breeds." 

"Lead  us    not  into   temptation,  but  deliver  us  from 


376  MAERIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

evil,"  murmured  the  woman,  with  shut  eyes;  "and  for- 
give us  our  trespasses."  Never  had  man  more  loving 
beadswoman,  or  fairer  intercessor,  than  had  Frederick 
Galton  in  Mary  his  wife. 

"  But  suppose  the  evil  has  been  done,"  returned  he,  in 
hollow  tones — '^  has  been  done,  and  is  irrevocable — " 

"Repent,  repent,"  mournfully  interrupted  she,  "and 
avoid  it  for  the  future." 

"  I  knew  it,"  muttered  Frederick,  bitterly ;  "  how 
could  it  be  otherwise? — But  Mary,  dear,  supi^o.^e  it 
were  not  a  thing  to  do  again — not  some  such  sin  as  you 
are  thinking  of,  but  a  crime — " 

"Then  make  reparation  to  the  utmost,  and  ask  for- 
giveness of  God." 

Frederick  groaned  and  hid  his  face. 

"  Husband,  dear,  let  us  pray.  If  there  is  any  sin  upon 
your  soul,  I  pray  God  to  let  me  share  it,  if  I  may  thereby 
share  the  punishment." 

"Heaven  forbid!"  murmured  Frederick,  earnestly. 
"But  let  us  talk  no  more  in  this  fashion.  There  is  no 
weight  such  as  you  imagine  oppressing  me ;  I  am  unwell, 
Mary,  that  is  all.  AVhen  the  body  is  siclv,  the  heart  is 
faint.  I  feel  morbid,  depressed,  and  haunted  with  the 
sense  of  woe  impending,  but  what  has  really  fallen  is 
only  good  fortune.  How  unthankful  I  must  seeui  to 
you  !  Where  is  my  uncle's  letter  ?  Let  me  read  it  once 
again." 

"  Do,  darling,  do.  Is  he  not  kind  ?  Is  he  not  sorry 
for  the  past?  Do  you  not  forgive  him  all?  You  will 
write  to  him  to-day,  Frederick,  will  you  not?  Or  shall 
I  write  ? .    Perhaps  that  would  be  better." 

"  Much  better,  Mary." 

"  But  I  shall  be  so  frio-htened,  and  I  know  there  will 
be  all  sorts  of  mistakes,  love.  So  you  must  read  it 
over,  *  please,  before  it  goes.  You  couldn't  write  me  out 
what  I  should  say,  could  you,  Frederick  ?  Just  a  few 
words  for  me  to  copy.  No,  you're  not  well  enough  for 
that.     You  have  actually  not  touched  one  morsel  this 


KIND     INQUIRIES.  377 

morning.  Dear  husband,  I  think  I  know  what  it  is 
which  makes  you  so  sad.  You  are  thinking  of  poor 
Eugenie.^' 

"  Yes,  I  was ;  that  is  it,"  returned  Frederick,  mechan- 
ically. 

"Poor  girl  —  poor  dear  girl,"  murmured  Mary. 
"Heaven  knows  how  I  pity  her.  Don't  you  think, 
love,  since  you  are  so  unwell,  that  I  had  better  go  to 
Park' Lane  myself,  to  see  her  in  this  trouble?  Would 
she  not  think  it  kind?" 

"  Xo,  no,  no,"  answered  Frederick,  vehemently.  "You 
must  not  go  near  the  house ;  you  would  do  more  harm 
than  good.  Hush!  what  is  that  man  crying  in  the 
street?     What  a  noise  he  makes  with  his  lying  news  !  " 

'^Second  edition  of  this  morning's  jxipers  !  Slysterious 
and  hornhle  death  of  a  gentleman  of  fortune  in  the  Ser- 
pentine water  in  Hi/dc  Park.  Suspected  murder  of  a 
gentleman  o^  fortune  ! " 

Through  the  open  window,  every  syllable  the  news- 
man bawled  and  bawled  again  was  heard  with  distinct- 
ness. Nearer  and  nearer  he  drew,  till  at  last  he  stood 
exactly  opposite  the  area  railings,  and  proffered  his  wares 
in  his"^  natural  voice  across  them.  "  Second  edition,  sir ; 
great  news,  my  lady,  this  morning.  A  gentleman  of 
fashion  found  drowned  in  the  Serpentine ;  here  it  is,  with 
the  latest  particulars.  You  will  seldom  find  a  better  six- 
pennyworth  than  this,  I  assure  you  :  only  sixpence." 

"  Here  is  the  money,  man ;  go ! "  cried  Frederick, 
furiously.     "  Xo,  I  don't  want  your  paper  ;  it's  all  lies." 

"But  this  is  true,  sir,"  returned  the  newsman,  con- 
fidentially. "  I  know  a  party  myself  who  is  brother-in- 
law  to  the  party  as  found  the  unfortunate  victim ;  quite 
a  young  gentleman  he  was,  and  there  seems  to  be  little 
doubt  that  there  was  some  foul — " 

Frederick  slammed  the  window  down,  and  pulled  the 
blind  over  the  man's  face.  ^' These  sort  of  fellows  will 
never  take  a  civil  answer,"  cried  he.  "  What  were  we 
talking  of,  when  that  brute  first  interrupted  us?" 


378  M  A  E  R  I  E  D      BENEATH      HIM. 

"Ilurder  or  suicide/^  screamed  the  human  parrot  with 
redoubled  energy,  after  the  refreshment  of  subdued 
conversation  —  "suspected  77H/rder  of  a  r/eni\eman  of 
fortune ! " 

"  AVe  were  talking  of  Eugenie/'  said  Mary  ;  "  I  trust 
that  her  husband  will  be  kind  and  comfort. her  in  this 
great  sorrow.  I  think  if  one  of  us  does  not  go,  we  cer- 
tainly ought  to  send  to  inquire  after  her  father."' 

"  Just  as  you  please,  Mary ;  perhaps  you  had  better 
go  yourself.  The  servant  will  be  sure  to  bring  back 
eorne  garbled  report.  You  will  have  a  cab,  of  course — 
there  is  no  more  necessity  for  close  economy,  you  know — 
and  you  had  better  take  your  nurse  and  child," 

'^  If  you  wish  it,  Frederick,  I  will  do  so ;  though  I 
should  not  come  to  any  hurt,  alone.  I  hope,  however, 
that  Mr.  John  Meyrick  will  not  be  in  the  house ;  I  have 
a  sort  of  horror  of  that  man." 

To  look  at  Frederick's  face,  it  seemed  as  though  he 
had  a  sort  of  horror  of  him  too. 

"  He  will  not  harm  you,"  said  he,  gravely,  after  a 
little  pause;  "and  since  you  have  determined  upon 
going,  it  will  be  just  as  well  to  go  at  once.  I  shall  be 
anxious,  very  anxious  to  hear  your  news." 

It  is  a  long  journey  from  Somers  Town  to  Park  Lane, 
even  if  the  wayfarer  is  not  dependent  upon  a  chain  of 
omnibuses,  by  no  means  "  in  correspondence,"  l)ut  in- 
dulges in  the  luxury  of  "a  throngh  transit"  per  cab. 
Considering -that  Frederick  must  have  knjwn  this  very 
well,  he  grew  most  unjustifiably  impatient  for,  his  wife's 
return.  He  began  to  pull  out  his  watch,  and  stare 
through  the  window  before  she  could  well  have  reached 
the  place  of  her  destination.  He  lit  cigar  after  cigar, 
and  before  he  had  smoked  them  half  ^\:ay  through  tossed 
them  into  the  grate,  and  commenced  walking  restlessly 
up  and .  down  the  room,  like  an  hyena.  Curiously 
enough,  'wheh  the  time  grew  near  when  she  might  be 
reasonably  expected,  he  left  the  parlor,  and  retired  to  his 
dressing-room,  which   was   at    the   back    of  the   house. 


KIND     INQUIRIES.  379 

There  be  sat  at  the  open  winclo\Y,  gazing  vacantly  at  the 
hare  strips  of  garden-ground  in  ^vhich  there  were  no 
flowers,  and  wherein  the  only  trees  were  clothes-props  ; 
but  his  ears  drank  in  the  sliglitest  sound  from  within  the 
house.  AVhen  the  front-door  bell  rang  at  last,  he  sat 
himself  swiftly  down  at  the  writing-table,  and  made  as 
though  he  were  busy  with  some  manuscript.  He  heard 
his  wife  enter  the  house  and  look  into  the  sitting-room, 
and  come  up-stairs  with  hurried  steps.  He  knew  that 
she  was  outside  the  door,  and  hesitating  there  before  she 
knocked. 

^^Come  in,  dear,"  answered  he,  with  composure;  "I  hope 
you  bring  good  news.  How  is  the  poor  old  man  ?  Has 
he  recovered  his  speech  at  all  ?  How  is  Eugenie  ?  "  He 
rained  these  inquiries  upon  his  wife  with  great  rapidity, 
like  sentences  out  of  a  phrase-book,  but  he  never  took  his 
eyes  off  the  pages  before  him. 

'^ Monsieur  deLernay  is  somewhat  better;  I  don't  know 
whether  he  can  sneak  or  not ;  but,  oh,  Frederick,  I  know 
you  will  be  so  shocked — for  though  you  didn't  like  him, 
as,  indeed,  nobody  could,  yet,  for  the  sake  of  Auld  Lang 
Syne,  von  must  needs  be  sorrv — Mr.  Mevrick  has  killed 
himself!'^ 

"  Gracious"  goodness  I  "  exclaimed  Frederick,  looking 
up  for  an  instant  at  his  wife's  face.  "  What  I  at  Caster- 
ton  ?  at  the  Grange  ?  " 

^'  I  am  not  speaking  of  the  old  Squire,  Frederick  :  it  is 
John  Meyrick  himsetf,  I  mean ;  your  own  old  playmate, 
vears  ao-o.     I  knew  you  would  be  touched." 

"Is  he  dead?"  asked  Frederick,  keeping  his  hand 
over  liis  eves.  "  This  is  truly  horrible.  Quite  dead — 
you  are  sure  ?  " 

"Alas  !  yes ;  there  is  no  doubt  of  that.  He  was  brought 
home  this  morning  dead  and  drowned.  He  it  doubtless 
was  of  whom  tlie  newspaper  man  was  telling  us.  There 
is  quite  a  crowd  about  the  house." 

"  And  Eugenie ;  how  does  she  bear  this  second  misfor- 
tune?" 


380  M  A  E  E  I  E  D      BENEATH      H  1  M  . 

^'  She  is  wonderfal — wonderful  I ''  returned  Mary. 
"  Even  if  John  Meyrick  was  ever  so  bad  a  man,  of 
course,  she  cannot  but  feel  such  a  sudden  blow  as  this. 
-She  does  feel  it,  I  am  sure.  Yet,  with  her  father  speech- 
less, and  perhaps  dying  in  one  room,  and  her  husband  a 
corpse  in  another,  she  is  quite  collected  and  firm,  I  shall 
never  forget  her  face,  as  she  told  me  what  had  liappened. 
Instead  of  being  at  the  party  last  night,  he  had  remained 
in  his  own  room,  it  seems;  and  fancy,  Frederick  !  he  had 
not  been  sober  for  hours.     Is  not  that  terrible  ?  " 

"Go  on,  go  on." 

'^  AVell,  they  suppose  that  he  took  to  drinking  afresh — 
for  there  was  an  empty  brandy-bottle  by  his  bedside — and 
so  brought  on  a  fit  of  delirium.  Then  he  began  to  think 
of  suicide.  Under  his  pillow  was  found  a  bell-rope,  taken 
out  of  his  wife's  room — poor  Eugenie  shuddered  when 
she  said  ^ my  room' — with  a  slip-knot  made  in  it.  But 
his  courage  seems  to  have  failed  him  with  respect  to  that 
mode  of  death.  He  left  the  house  unobserved,  when 
everybody  was  engaged  about  poor  Monsieur  de  Lernay, 
and  wandered  into  Hyde  Park,  and  to  the  Serpentine. 
He  was  determined  enough  then,  poor  wretch ;  he  was 
found  drowned  in  quite  shallow  water,  close  to  the 
bank." 

"Close  to  the  bank,"  repeated  Frederick,  mechanically, 
"  yet  under  water  ?  " 

"  Just  so  ;  and  with  his  blank  face  upward — not  down- 
ward. That  is  the  only  thing  which  throws  a  doubt 
about  its  being  an  act  of  suicide.  Of  course  it  was  terri- 
ble for  Eugenie  to  have  to  tell  all  this  ;  but  she  said  she 
would  rather  do  so,  once  for  all,  and  tliat  I  must  never 
ask  her  about  it  again.  She  enjoined  me  to  be  sure  and 
repeat  to  you,  word  for  word,  all  that  she  told  me.  He 
had  his  card-case  with  him,  so  the  body  was  brought  home 
at  once  from  the  Royal  Humane  Society's  offices;  but  he 
was  so  altered  that  the  servants  hardly  knew  him.  The 
inquest,  they  say,  will  be  held  on  Wednesday.  Oh,  there 
was  one  thing  more  which    brought  the  tears  into  my 


KIND     INQUIRIES.  381 

eyes;  he  had  taken  with  him  his  wife's  bouquet  holder — 
the  very  one  which  you  saw  in  her  hand  last  evening — 
and  it  was  found  lying  by  the  dead  man's  side,  with  the 
flowers  still  in  it.  ^  Tell  your  husband  that,  as  well  as 
the  rest/  said  Eugenie.  Perhaps  she  thought  it  might 
win  a  better  place  for  the  unhappy  man  in  your  memory, 
for  she  mentioned  it  twice  and  bade  me  not  forget  it. — 
How  pale  and  faint  you  look,  love  !  I  told  her  that  your 
kind  heart  would  bleed  for  her.  Sad  as  our  talk  was  I 
am  truly  glad  I  w^ent.'' 

'^  Yes,  it  was  well,"  said  the  young  man,  musing ;  "  and 
now,  dearest,  leave  me  here  alone  a  little.  This  fatal 
news  has  unnerved  me.  I  shall  feel  better  left  to  mv- 
self.'' 

Once  more  he  placed  mmself  by  the  open  window, 
loosening  his  cravat  at  the  same  time,  and  gazed  upon  the 
waste  of  brick  and  mortar.  As  the  refrain  of  some  fool- 
ish song,  or  as  some  witless  jest,  will  sometimes  haunt  the 
mind  for  years,  so  did  that  dusty,  mean,  and  almost 
squalid  picture  before  Frederick's  unregarding  eyes  be- 
come engraved  for  aye  upon  his  memory  :  for  in  the 
fiery  ordeals  of  the  soul,  all  circumstances,  however  trivial, 
whether  in  person,  place,  or  thing,  partake  for  the  future 
of  those  dread  epochs,  and  are  lifted  henceforth  from  their 
natural  level,  while  the  brain,  unconscious  as  a  camera, 
takes  in,  at  such  times,  impressions  of  all  that  surrounds 
us  upon  its  indelible  plate. 


382  MARRIED      BEXEATH     HIM. 

CHAPTER    XLII. 

A2s    IXTERESTIXG   EVEXT. 

WHEX  an  editor  makes  public  boast  of  the  impor- 
tance of  his  journal,  he  dwells  up>on  the  various 
degrees  of  men  who  purchase  or  read  it/ and  of  the  out- 
of-the-way  and  distant  parts  of  the  world  to  which  it 
penetrates ;  but  a  much  more  striking  subject  for  reflec- 
tion upon  the  wonders  of  the  press  is  the  enthralling  per- 
sonal interest  with  which  every  copy  of  a  great  news- 
paper must  be  received  and  devoured.  The  advertise- 
ment-sheet alone — independently  of  those  momentous 
iutimations  in  its  second  column  of  forgiveness  or  renun- 
ciation of  the  prodigal,  the  farewell  or  return  of  the 
wronged,  the  passionate  last  appeal  to  the  destroyer,  each 
of  which  is  a  romance  of  real  life  compressed  into  a  few 
lines — the  advertisements  alone,  I  say,  bear  hope  and 
disappointment,  comfort  or  despair,  to  hundreds,  although 
to  the  tens  of  thousands  they  may  seem  only  stupid  puffs 
or  artful  swindles. 

The  births  are  ruin  to  the  heir-presumptive ;  the  mar- 
riages are  wormwood  to  the  jilted;  the  deaths,  which 
we  read  so  glibly,  fill  scores  of  hearts  with  unutterable 
woe. 

Darkest  of  all  to  a  few  is  that  page  which  contains  the 
annals  of  crime.  From  it  the  poor  wretch,  who  has  hid- 
den, as  he  hopes,  his  fraud  so  cunningly  that  no  man  shall 
unravel  it,  learns  for  the  first  time  that  all  his  pains  have 
been  unavailing,  and  that  the  clue  is  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  will  follow  it  up  to  the  bitter  end  ;  the  forger  peruses 
the  history  of  his  own  act,  writ  by  no  lenient  hand ;  the 
murderer  listens  aghast  to  the  first  whisper  of  a  voice  that 
he  deemed  was  stifled,  but  which,  as  he  now  vrell  per- 
ceives, shall  presently  grow  to  a  great  cry  of  blood  for 
blood. 


AX     IXTERESTIXG     EVEXT.  '6>io 

AmoDo-  the  most  exciting  and  sensational  of  news- 
pa^ier  topics,  at  the  time  of  which  we  speak,  were  the 
rumors  and  suspicions  incident  to  the  death  of  John 
Meyrick.  His  wealth,  which  of  course  was  greatly 
exaggerated ;  the  position  in  society  which  ]\I.  de  Lernay 
had"  endeavored,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  had  succeeded 
iu  securing  for  him ;  his  youth,  thus  suddenly  cut  off  in 
the  midst,  it  was  vrhispered,  of  terrible  dissipations ;  the 
beauty  and  accomplishments  of  Eugenie,  already  well- 
nigli  overwhelmed  by  the  misfortune  that  had  overtaken 
her  father, upon  the  same  night  on  which  she  had  become 
a  widow — all  these  things  vrere  elements  enough  of  won- 
der and  curiosity.  But  in  addition  to  what  was  ascer- 
tainable, there  were  the  strangest  rumors  afloat,  whicli, 
drifting  hither  and  thither  in  all  directions,  clung  like 
lireships  to  the  unwieldy  vessel,  public  opinion,  and  set  it 
alight  from  stem  to  stern.  ^Ir.  John  Meyrick  had  half 
murdered  M.  de  Lernay,  and  then  killed  himself;  he  had 
attempted  to  destroy  his  wife,  who  was  only  preserved 
from  his  brutal  violence  at  the  expense  of  the  life  of  her 
father ;  mad  with  drink,  he  had  devised  a  scheme  for  the 
annihilation  of  two  hundred  persons  of  fashion  at  a 
dramatic  entertainment,  and  in  despair  at  its  failure,  thi- 
amateur  Guy  Faux  had  put  an  end  to  his  own  existence. 
Xor  were  tliere  wanting  sensation  paragraphs,  which  tool: 
what  might  be  called  the  other  side  of  the  cpiestiou,  and 
represented  the  dead  man  as  a  victim  ;  and  it  was  curious 
to  mark  how  the  poor  halfpenny-worth  of  fact  was  almo.-l 
always  present  amid  the  most  monstrous  falsehoods.  The 
Frenchman  and  his  daughter,  it  was  said,  had  ruled  the 
unhappy  deceased,  who  was  of  weak  mind,  Avith  a  rod  of 
iron ;  his  refusal  to  comply  with  some  humiliating  request 
of  his  father-in-law,  had  driven  the  latter  gentleman  into 
an  apoplectic  fit,  through  violent  passion;  at  whicii 
calamity,  the  poor  young  man — who  had  in  reality  a  good 
heart — was  so  horror-stricken,  that  he  sought  refuge  in  a 
watery  grave,  ^ay,  there  were  even  statements  thar 
John  ^Nlevrick  had  not  committed  suicide  at  all,  but  had 


384  M  A  R  R  I  E  D     B  E  N  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

come  to  his  death  by  violence.  Some  of  his  relatives  had 
only  too  good  reasons  to  wish  for  his  decease.  So 
estranged  had  he  been  from  his  own  family,  that  althongh 
actually  in  the  house  upon  that  festiv-e  occasion  \yiiich 
had  terminated  so  tragically,  he  had  never  left  his  bed- 
room, except  to  take  a  walk  in  the  park  vrhen  all  was 
oyer.  ^  He  Avas  partial,  it  seemed,  to  a  quiet  life,  while 
his  wife — a  Frenchwoman  and  a  Catholic — and  her 
father,  who  resided  with  them,  were  given  up  to  fashion- 
able frivolities.  The  paragraph  writers  were  not,  they 
said,  at:  present  at  liberty  to  say  more,  but  the  public 
need  not  be  surprised  if  jealousy  was  found  to  have  been 
at  the  bottom  of  this  truly  mysierious  affair.  Every  de- 
vice, in  short,  for  inflaming  curiosity  was  put  in  prac- 
tice, and  not  the  least  effective  was  the  pretence  of  judi- 
cial forbearance,  with  which,  when  they  had  told  all  they 
knew,  and  all  they  could  invent,  the  writers  concluded 
their  remarks:  "We  abstain,  for  obvious  reasons,  from 
dwelling  upon  this  painful  subject  further:  but  we  are  in 
a  position  to  state,  that  at  the  inquest  to  be  held  on  Wed- 
nesday next  there  will  be  revelations  of  a  most  unexpected 
kind." 

Conceive  with  what  more  or  less  of  interest  all  these 
reports  were  read  or  listened  to  by  the  principal  person- 
ages in  this  history.  We  know,  from  the  most  trust- 
worthy authorities,  how  difficult  it  is  for  even  the 
chivah'ous  hero  of  a  novel  to  shut  his  ears  when  he 
suddenly  finds  himself  the  topic  of  conversation  among 
strangers;  his  curiosity  is  too  strong  for  his  sense  of 
honor,  and  not  until  he  has  overheard  the  most  striking 
of  the  observations  in  question,  and  the  speakers  show 
signs  of  beginning  to  tire  of  the  subject,  and  to  change  it 
for  something  else,  is  he  compelled,  by  the  natural  frank- 
ness of  his  disposition,  to  reveal  himself,  to  their  astonish- 
ment and  confusion.  Thfs,  of  course,  puts  an  end  to  the 
scandal.  But  when  people  talk  about  our  personal 
friends,  and  in  the  newspapers,  it  is  impossible  to  stop 
them,  even  if  we  felt  inclined  to  do  so ;  and  since  it  can 


AN      J  >-  T  E  R  E  S  T  I  N  G      E  V  E  X  T  .  385 

do  no  additional  harm  to  read  what  is  so  widely  dissemi- 
nated, we  ourselves  (and  not  altogether  without  interest) 
peruse  it,  like  the  rest  of  the  world. 

At  all  events,  an  inquest  is  a  judicial  proceeding  which 
it  is  only  right  that  everybody  should  make  themselves 
acquainted  with,  and  if  it  happens  to  be  held  upon  tl:; 
body  of  a  personal  acquaintance — well,  that  is  very  shock- 
ing, of  course,  but  it  does  not  detract  from  its  excitin- 
character. 

The  delicate  Mr.  Chester's  principal  objection  to  self- 
destruction  was,  that  it  subjected  even  persons  of  distinc- 
tion to  be  ^^sat  upon"'  by  coroners,  and  ^' viewed "  by 
jurors,  and  Mr.  Percival  Potts  v.as  a  disciple  of  the  same 
school.  The  political  organ  over  which  he  presided,  no 
longer  as  sub,  but  as  sole  editor,  without  at  all  disdaining 
to  improve  its  circulation  by  exciting  paragraphs  about 
the  mysterious  decease  of  the  gentleman  of  fashion  in 
Hyde  Park,  was  eloquent  in  its  leaders  against  the  mis- 
chievous notoriety  of  coroners'  incpiests  ;  the  unnecessary 
prying  of  the  public  eye  into  the  affairs  of  distinguished 
families,  at  a  time  when  grief  ought  to  be  held  most 
sacred;  and  the  mingling  of  vulgar  conventionalisms 
with  the  solemnities  of  death.  Among  people  in  White- 
chapel,  coroners'  incpiests  might  be  well  enough,  and 
even  afford  a  balm  to  the  feelin2:s  of  surviving:  relatives  ; 
but  among  persons  of  condition,  they  should  never  be 
held,  unless  under  circumstances  of  great  suspicion,  since 
they  only  added  shame  to  sorrow.  To  these  cogent 
remarks,  interspersed  with  Latin  quotations,  a  little 
marred  by  the  printer,  the  Daihj  Democrat  responded, 
that  it  was  only  among  the  higher  classes  that  there  was 
any  necessity  for  coroners'  inquests  at  all;  that  in 
Belgrave  Square  more  people  came  by  their  deaths 
unfairly,  and  generally  at  the  hands  of  their  immediate 
heirs,  than  in  any  area  of  similar  extent  in  the  whole  of 
London,  no  matter  how  densely  populated.  Descending 
from  general  abuse  of  society  to  special  libel,  the  article 
concluded  with  a  reference  to  certain  attempts  which 
24 


386  M  A  E  E  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HIM. 

were  being  made  by  some  portions  of  the  press  to  burke 
inquiry  into  the  circumstances  attendant  upon  the  death 
of  Joh.n  Meyrick,  Esq. 

This  pretty  newspaper  quarrel  did  not  diminish  the 
general  excitement;  and  the  appointed  Wednesday  was" 
looked  for  with  more  anxiety  than  most  days  which  have 
given  promise  of  their  favorite  food  to  a  mystery-loving 
public.  It  came  at  last,  as  all  days  come,  no  maker  how 
lingering  is  their  approach,  how  dark  their  dawn,  how 
big  with  woeful  fate  to  the  human  watcher.  The  inquest 
was  held  at  noon,  and  did  not  conclude  till  four.  At  six, 
Frederick  Galton  held  in  his  hand  a  copy  of  the  Unicorn^ 
containing  the  full  particulars,  and  forwarded  to  him 
anonymously  by  special  messenger.  On  plea  of  con- 
tinued illness,  he  had  never  left  his  house  since  the  night 
of  the  dramatic  performance.  Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson 
had  called,  but  he  had  been  too  unwell  to  see  him ;  too 
unwell  to  eat  or  drink,  too  unwell  to  sleep,  too  unwell  to 
speak,  beyond  a  few  commonplace  observations  to  his 
wife;  too  unwell  for  any  company  but  liis  own.  Mrs. 
Gideon  had  remarked  to  Mary,  with  whom  she  now 
endeavored  to  establish  confidential  relations,  that  her 
husband  really  seemed  to  be  '^  queerer  ^'  than  ever.  "  I 
used  to  think  him  rather  a  fast  young  man — I  did 
indeed,  ma'am,  for  I  will  not  deceive  you — but  I  am  now 
convinced  that  it  was  all  his  queerness.  Martha  is  quite 
of  my  opinion,  and  indeed  she  thinks  he  is  downright 
Avrong  in  his  head.^' 

Mary  repeated  this  to  Frederick,  in  order  to  make  him 
laugh,  to  rouse  him,  if  it  were  but  for  a  moment,  from 
the  morbid  melancholy  in  which  he  seemed  to  be  plunged, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  draw  his  attention  indirectly  to 
the  strangeness  of  his  behavior;  perhaps,  he  might 
thereby  be  induced  to  send  for  a  doctor,  which 
he  had  somewhat  vehemently  refused  to  do.  He 
did  not,  indeed,  laugh  at  Mrs.  Gideon's  opinion  of 
him,  but  it  seemed  to  awaken  some  faint  interest 
within  him. 


AX      i  .\  i  £i:i:>TIXG     EVEXT.  387 

"She  always  thouglU  I  was  queer,  did  she?  '^  said  he, 
smiling. 

"  Yes,  she  did  indeed,  Frederick ;  and  as  for  Martha, 
it  seems  she  always  thought  you  cracked." 

"  Cracked,  eh  ?  How  funny  !  "  Frederick  smiled 
again.  . 

Mary,  delighted  to  see  him  thus  won  a  little  from 
himself,  pursued  the  subject. 

"And  the  fact  is,  my  dear  love,  that  many  other 
persons  entertain  the  very  same  idea  about  you.  You 
don't  know  what  odd  things  you  do.  That  was  actually 
one  of  the  objections  urged  against  our  marriage  by  more 
than  one  person  I  could  name;  they  said  you  were  so 
flighty.  Commonplace  people  don't  understand  you.  I 
should  never  have  understood  you,  of  course,  myself, 
if  it  had  not  been  that  love  played  the  interpreter. 
Although  you  are  so  clever,  and  I  am  so  dull,  I  know 
you,  Frederick  dear — ah !  better  than  all  the  world 
beside." 

"But  others  think  I'm  mad,  do  they,  Mary?"  He 
was  looking  straight  before  him  into  the  empty  grate, 
and  not,  as  of  old,  at  her,  but  still  it  vras  souiething  that, 
he  could  be  got  to  talk  at  all. 

"AVell,  they  would  scarcely  dare  to  say  that  you  were 
mad,  Frederick  ;  but  if  you  ever  happened  to  do  any- 
thing very  extraordinary  and  out  of  the  way,  I  do 
believe  that  they  would  say  there  was  no  wonder,  and 
that  they  had  always  expected  something  of  that  sort." 

"  You  really  think  they  would  say  that  ?  "  said  Fred^ 
erick,  rousing  himself. 

"  I  am  sure  they  would,"  answered  Mary,  laughing. 
"  Why,  my  dear,  dear  Fred,  you  don't  know  how 
fuunily  you  behave  sometimes.  If  I  was  not  your  wife 
— and  more  than  that,  as  I  have  said,  a  very  loving  one 
— I,  too,  should  now  and  then  believe  that  you  were  not 
quite — you  won't  be  angry^  love — not  quite  in  your  right 
mind." 

Frederick  was  not  angry ;  far  from  it ;  he  had,  on  the 


388  M  A  R  R  I  E  D     BENEATH     II  I  M  . 

contrary,  seemed  to  be  in  rather  better  spirits  on  the  day 
after  this  conversation,  which  took  place  at  breakfast 
time,  upon  the  morning  on  which  the  inquest  was  to  be 
lield ;  but  he  retired  in  the  afternoon  as  usual  to  his  own 
room.  _It  was  thither  that  the  extra  edition  of  the 
Unicorn  had  been  carried  to  him  ;  and  there  he  sat  alone, 
with  the  unopened  newspaper  in  his  hand,  gazing  upon 
it  with  a  curious  fascination.  When  beginning  author- 
ship, he  had  experienced  something  of  the  same  kind 
with  respect  to  some  journal  which  he  had  reason  to 
know  contained  a  critique  upon  his  poems — of  the  same 
kind,  but  how  fearfully  different  in  degree.  Such  might 
have  made  his  heart  go  pit-a-pat,  for  tlie  circulation  of  a 
young  author's  blood  is  more  easily  hastened  than  that 
of  his  book,  but  it  would  never  have  brought  the  drops 
of  sweat  upon  his  forehead,  as  nc)W.  Had  lie  been  a 
clairvoyant,  and  been  able  to  possess  himself  of  all  that 
lay  hid  in  that  little  roll  of  print,  at  a  single  glance, 
Avhat  long  minutes  of  agony  would  he  have  been  spared ! 
Even  when  he  had  undone  the  paper,  he  shrank  from 
looking  at  the  very  place  where  he  knew  that  what  he 
sought  was  to  be  found.  He  ran  his  eye  over  the  Court 
Circular y  over  the  Money  Article,  over  the  Amusements — 
how  strange  it  seemed  to  him  that  people  should  enjoy 
concerts,  theatres,  casinos,  Shakspeare  readings — ay,  by- 
the-by,  how  was  poor  Shylock  by  this  time?  "Hope- 
lessly ill,"  was  the  last  news  that  had  been  heard  of 
him.  Eugenie  had  returned  no  other  answer  the  second 
time  he  had  sent  to  inquire  after  M.  de  Lernay.  There 
was  nothing  more  to  say  to  him  (Frederick)  after  that 
message  about  the  bouquet-holder.  She  would  judge 
him  leniently — there  was  no  doubt  of  that ;  but  hence- 
forth, no  communication  would  ever  pass  between  her 
and  him. 

How  strange  it  seemed,  when  only  a  few  days  ago  she 
had  greeted  him  so  warmly,  and  spoke  of  Mary  with 
such  tenderness,  and  made  such  plans  for  friendship  for 
the  future !     How  a  single  act  changes  the  whole  course 


of  our  being  !  how  a  hasty  word,  a  moment's  evil  impulse, 
leads  to  immediate  ruin  !  The  path  of  Life  skirts  always 
an  unseen  precipice,  and  where  the  flowers  grow  most  lux- 
uriantly, and  tempt  the  wayfarer,  is  often  the  most  dan- 
o-erous '  spot ;  we  tread  on  roses  into  tlie  abyss.  The 
inquest  upon  3L\  Meyrid:.  His  eye  was  upon  it  at  last ; 
lie  could  avoid  the  huge  black  staring  type  no  longer. 
Two,  three,  four,  five  columns  long,  and  the  verd'ct  over 
the  page.  The  verdict !  He  felt  himself  growing  ghastly 
jxale.  "His  heart  seemed  to  stop  suddenly,  like  a  hitched 
pendulum.  As  a  debauched  novel-reader,  whom  nothing 
can  interest  short  of  denouements,  feels  a  desire  to  plunge 
into,  to  begin  with  the  conclusion  of  the  third  volume, 
so  Frederick  yearned  to  know  the  end  of  the  whole 
matter,  but  did  not  dare  to  inform  himself  He  pre- 
ferred to  gather  what  might  be  coming  from  what  had 
gone  before.  The  shadovr  would  doubtless  project  itself 
dark  and  defined  enough  for  him  to  guess  at  the  form  of 
that  v.hich  threw  it.  He  would  let  the  evidence  tell 
upon  his  own  mind  as  though  he  were  a  juryman. 
What  has  Park-keeper  No.  1  to  say  about  this  mysteri- 
ous affair,  which,  it  is  written,  has  "thrown  the  west-end 
of  the  metroi)olis  into  a  state  of  such  intense  excitement,'' 
and  caused  the  jury -room  to  be  "crowded  to  suffocation 
hv  persons  of  the  highest  fashion?" 

Park-keeper  Xo.  1  has  not  much  to  say,  and  seems  to 
have  a  difficulty  in  saying  that  little ;  his  evidence  is  a 
collection  of  short  answers  in  reply  to  elaborate  but  not 
very  logical  questions,  and  reads  like  a  conversation-page 
out  of  one  of  ^I.  Dumas's  later  feuilletons,  "^.Miat  it  all 
comes  to,  however,  is  this.  "  Being  upon  duty  on  the 
night  of  the  eighteenth  of  June  in  question,  he  perceived, 
an"  hour  or  so  after  daybreak,  but  before  the  park-gates 
were  opened,  a  dark  object  floating  at  the  northeast  corner 
of  the  Serpentine.  Leastways  it  was  not  floating,  but 
onlv  appeared  to  do  so  in  the  distance.  As  he  neared  it 
he  found  it  to  be  a  human  body,  lying  face  upwards  in 
shallow  water.     The  water  covered  the  face  perhaps  a 


u.n>  M  A  R  E  I  E  I)      BE  X  E  A  1  H      H  i  M  . 

couple  of  inches  deep.  It  was  the  body  of  a  young  gen- 
tleman— he  had  seen  it  again  to-day,  and  it  was  the  same 
body.  It  was  dressed  in  fine  black  clothes — what  were 
cvenrng  clothes,  he  dared  say ;  but  wearing  a  uniform 
himself  both  day  and  night,  he  was  no  great  judge  of 
that  matter.  It  wore  a  heavy  gold  chain  ;  and  in  the 
shirt  front  were  diamond  studs.  It  was  lying  with  the 
face  upward  and  quite  dead.  The  face  was  slightly  dis- 
colored, and  the  eyelids  in  particular  almost  black.  There 
was  no  mark  or  sign  of  violence  whatever  upon  the  body 
so  far  as  he  could  see.  He  had  seen  a  good  manv ;  yes, 
more  than  a  dozen — more  than  a  score,  he  should  sav — 
of  drowned  persons  in  the  Royal  Humane  at  one  time  or 
another,  and  they  all  looked  like  tlutt.  He  could  not 
account  for  the  face  being  upward,  unless  the  party  had 
turned  hissclf  round.  He  did  not  think  that  was  Jikely 
to  happen  after  death;  declined  to  say  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  happen.  AVas  only  there  to  say  what  he  knew, 
and  did  not  wish  to  communicate  his  speculations;  just  so. 
Called  assistance,  and  helped  to  convey  the  body  into  the 
Royal  Humane.  Did  not  wait  to  see  it  stripped,  being 
well  aware  that  the  time  had  long  elapsed  in  vrhich  resus- 
citation could  be  hoped  for.  The  body  was  stiff  and  cold. 
Saw  nobody  in  tlie  neighborhood  of  the  spot ;  nor,  previous 
to  discovering  the  corpse,  had  heard  any  noise  or  outcry. 
Had  there  been  any  such  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
of  the  time  he  reached  the  place,  he  must  have  heard  it." 

This  evidence  was  more  or  less  corroborated  by  three  per- 
sons who  had  assisted  the  last  witness  to  remove  the  body. 

Then  came  the  medical  witness,  Mr.  Araphib,  one  of 
the  assistant  surgeons  to  the  Royal  Humane  Society. 

"  Had  examined  the  deceased  immediately  upon  his 
having  been  brought  in  from  tiie  water.  There  was  no 
sign  of  life  whatever.  The  usual  means  for  resuscitation 
were  employed,  but  were  totally  unavailing.  It  Avas  very 
unusual  to  resuscitate  a  body  after  an  immersion  of  five 
minutes,  although  by  no  means  unexampled.  An  authentic 
case  was  even  reported  of  resuscitation  after  twenty  min- 


AN     IXTEEESTING     EVENT.  391 

ntes  ;  no  chance  of  life  was  ever  thrown  away,  and  wliat 
could  be  done  was  done  in  this  case.  His  own  opinion 
was  that  the  deceased  had  been  immersed  at  least  twenty 
minutes.  There  was  every  sign  of  death  by  drowning. 
The  skin  was  cold,  pale,  and  contracted,  the  face  and 
neck  were  covered  with  livid  patches,  the  expression  of 
the  countenance  calm  and  peaceful ;  the  eyes  were  half 
open,  and  the  pupils  much  dilated.  The  mouth  was 
closed,  and  the  teeth  tightly  set.  This  last  symptom  was 
rather  unusual.  It  might  have  been  caused  by  the  de- 
termination of  the  suicide.  If  the  deceased  had  com- 
mitted suicide,  he  must  have  been  very  determined, 
according  to  the  preceding  evidence.  Persons  had,  how- 
ever, drowned  themselves,  within  his  personal  knowl- 
edge, in  water  equally  shallow.  All  the  symptoms  of 
death  by  drowning  would  be  precisely  the  same  whether 
the  water  were  deep  or  shallow,  even  if  it  covered  the 
mouth  only  by  a  few  inches.  Only,  under  the  latter 
circumstance,  there  would  probably  be  but  little  water 
found  in  the  stomach.  In  the  present  case,  he  found  but 
very  little.  There  was  as  much  brandy  as  there  was 
water.  (Sensation.)  If  exceedingly  intoxicated,  a  man 
would  of  course  be  more  likely  to  be  accidentally  drowned 
if  he  fell  even  in  shallow  water,  than  if  sober."  He  could 
not  say,  from  the  post-mortem  examination,  whether  the 
deceased  had  died  in  a  state  of  intoxication  or  otherwise; 
certainly  not.  He  did  not  attach  any  great  importance 
to  the  fact  that  the  body  had  been  found  upon  its  back 
with  the  face  upwards ;  the  probability  of  suicide  would 
doubtless  have  been  greatly  diminished  by  such  a  cir- 
cumstance, had  the  face  not  been  immersed.  There  were 
no  signs  whatever  to  excite  the  suspicion  that  the  deceased 
had  been  foully  dealt  with,  except  the  lividity  of  the  neck  ; 
it  was  unusually  discolored,  and  more  so  than  the  face 
itself.  Bruises  of  considerable  extent  are  often  seen  upon 
the  drowned,  when  the  body  has  been  floating  loosely  in 
water,  which  may  be  the  result  of  accidents  to  which  it 
has  been   exposed    in    that  position  ;    but    in   still   and 


392  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

shallow  water,  there  should  be  no  bruises.  The  spots 
upon  the  neck  of  the  deceased  miglit  by  possibih'ty  be 
finger-marks :  that  idea  had  undoubtedly  occurred  to 
him.  The  marks  he  alluded  to  were  slight  ecchymosed 
depressions,  upon  either  side  of  the  neck,  such  as  would 
be  caused  by  digital  pressure.  He  was  not  })reparecl  to 
say  that  they  must  needs  be  finger-marks.  In  several 
cases,  there  had  even  been  found  a  deep  ecchymosed  circle 
round  the  neck  of  a  drowned  person,  such  as  to  raise  the 
strongest  suspicion  of  foul  play ;  yet  in  one  instance  it 
was  discovered  that  deceased  had  made  a  previous  attempt 
to  commit  suicide  by  hanging;  and  in  another,  the  mark 
had  been  produced  by  the  pressure  of  the  string  of  his 
cloak,  which  the  tide  had  drifted  to  the  opposite  direction 
from  that  of  the  boat  to  which  he  was  struggling.  A 
practitioner  must  needs,  therefore,  be  cautious  in  giving 
a  decided  opinion,  founded  on  such  appearances,  as  to 
whether  an  act  of  drowning  was  the  result  of  accident, 
suicide,  or  murder.  That  was  a  matter  for  the  jury  to 
decide,  and  not  for  him.  He  had  been  asked  his  j^rivate 
opinion  since  the  occurrence  had  taken  place,  and  he  had 
given  it;  yes,  pretty  decidedly.  He  had  said  that  the  de- 
ceased had  come  to  his  end  by  suicide.  A  person  in  a  state 
of  such  intoxication  as  might  be  produced  by  the  brandy 
found  in  the  stomach  of  the  deceased,  could,  however,  in 
his  opinion  have  drowned  himself,  by  accident,  in  very  little 
water  :  he  had  known  an  instance  of  a  drunkard  meeting 
his  death  by  falling  with  his  face  in  a  mere  puddle.  In 
that  case,  the  man  was  not  found  with  his  face  upward — 
true.     He  had  no  further  evidence  to  offer.'^ 

John  Edmund  Freke,  valet  to  the  deceased,  deposed  : 
^^  Pie  identified  the  body  of  his  master,  John  Meyrick, 
Esquire,  junior.  It  was  brought  home  upon  the  morn- 
ing of  the  nineteenth  of  June,  about  eight  o'clock,  dead 
and  drowned.  He  had  seen  him  leave  the  house  about 
five  hours  before,  after  a  great  party  which  had  been  held 
there.  He  had  left  it  soon  after  M.  de  Lernay,  his 
father-in-law,  had  been   taken  with  the  fit,  and  imme- 


AX     INTER  EST  I  XG     EYE  XT.  393 

diately  after  some  of  the  guests — some  as  liacl  stayed  to 
help  to  carry  that  geDtleman  iip-stairs,  aud  such  like — 
had  gone  away.  Mr.  Meyrick  had  taken  do  notice  of 
his  father-in-law's  misfortune ;  none  whatever.  They 
had  not  been  on  good  terms.  Mr.  ^leyrick  was  to 
blame,  as  far  as  he  knew.  He  would  often  use  dreadful 
language  towards  M.  de  Lernay,  when  speaking  of  him 
to  witness.  He  would  do  so  both  drunk  and  sober.  But 
lie  was  almost  always  drunk.  He  should  say  he  was  natu- 
rally of  a  melancholy  disposition ;  he  never  seemed  to 
enjoy  himself  much,  not  even  in  his  cups.  On  the  morn- 
ino:  of  the  eio'hteenth  of  June,  he  had  been  brousfht  home 
drunk,  after  having  been  out  all  night,  and  he,  witness, 
had  put  him  to  bed  in  the  dressing-room.  He  had  done 
so  more  than  once  before.  He  did  observe  something 
peculiar  in  his  behavior  upon  that  occasion,  which  he 
had  not  observed  at  any  previous  time.  He  was  par- 
ticularly wild  in  his  talk  and  manner;  he  would  without 
doubt  have  been  dangerous,  if  he  had  not  been  so  entirely 
prostrated  by  liquor.  He  seemed  to  be  muttering  threats 
— so  far  as  anything  could  be  made  out  at  all  of  what  he 
said — but  whether  against  himself  or  others,  witness  could 
not  say.  His  own  impression  was  that  the  deceased  was 
upon  the  verge  of  an  attack  of  the  horrors  :  yes,  he  meant 
of  delirium  tremens.  Deceased  had  remained  up-stairs 
all  the  ensuing  day,  refusing  the  food  that  was  brought 
to  him,  but  taking  quantities  of  drink.  He  had  nearly 
emptied  a  large  bottle  of  brandy  that  stood  in  his  dress- 
ing-room. He  never  came  down-stairs  at  all,  to  his 
(witness's)  knowledge,  until  all  the  company  had  gone, 
even  those  who  had  stayed  to  su]i  with  M.  de  Lernay.  He 
left  the  house  quite  alone.  Xobody  attempted  to  stop 
him.  Xobody  but  !M.  de  Lernay  would  have  dared,  to 
do  such  a  thing.  "Witness  saw  him  passing  through  the 
hall,  looking  very  wild  and  hag^^^ard.  He  was  in  even- 
ing dress.  After  leaving  the  house,  he  turned  southward 
down  Park  Lane,  and  towards  Piccadilly  ;  he  walked 
very  fast.     He  did  not  cross  to  park  side  of  the  road." 


394  MARRIED     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM,  ' 

Clara  Roberts,  upper  housemaid  in  the  establishment 
of  the  deceased,  deposed :  ^'She  made  the  dressing-room 
bed  as  usual  ujDon  the  morning  of  June  nineteenth,  and 
under  the  pillow  found  a  rope  coiled  up,  with  a  slip-knot 
at  one  end  of  it.  It  was  one  of  the  bell-ropes  from  her 
mistress's  room.  There  was  no  such  rope  in  the  dressing- 
room  ;  the  bells  there  had  handles  to  them,  and  no  ropes. 
It  was  not  at  all  unusual  for  the  deceased  to  pass  the 
night  in  his  dressing-room.  The  brandy  bottle  kept  in 
the  cabinet  by  the  bedside  w^as  nearly  empty.  It  was 
quite  full  on  the  evening  of  the  seventeenth  ;  it  was  re- 
iilled  on  that  day  by  the  last  witness.  Her  master  was 
accustomed  to  drink  much  more  than  was  good  for  him. 
Did  not  see  him  at  all  during  the  last  six-and-thirty 
hours  of  his  life,  but  understood  that  he  had  been 
brought  home  on  the  morning  of  the  eighteenth,  in  a 
worse  state  than  usual." 

Police-constable  X  490  deposed :  "  Was  called  by  a 
park-keeper,  the  first  witness,  to  assist  in  removing  the 
deceased  from  the  Serpentine  to  the  Royal  Humane 
Society's  establishment.  Returned  immediately  after- 
wards to  the  spot  where  the  body  was  found.  Within  a 
few  feet  of  that  place,  and  partially  covered  with  water, 
we  picked  up  a  gilt  bouquet-holder  [produced]  filled 
Vvith  flowers.  There  were  no  marks  of  struggling,  or 
anything  whatever  that  betokened  an  encounter  about 
the  spot." 

Clara  Roberts  recalled :  "  Identified  the  bouquet- 
holder  as  belonging  to  her  mistress,  Mrs.  John  i\Ieyrick. 
She  had  used  it  upon  the  night  of  the  party  on  the 
eighteenth.  The  flowers,  to  the  best  of  her  belief,  were 
the  same  flow^ers." 

John  Edmund  Freke  recalled:  ^^ Could  not  swear 
whether  the  deceased  had  a  bouquet-holder  in  his  hand 
when  he  left  the  house  or  not;  should  not  have  been 
surprised,  or  taken  any  particular  notice  if  he  had; 
should  not  have  been  surprised  at  anything." 

The  appearance  of  the  next  witness,  said  the  news- 


AX      I  X  T  E  E  E  S  T  I  y  G      E  V  E  X  T  .  395 

paper  report,  caused  intense  excitement,  it  being  under- 
stood that  his  evidence  had  not  been  forthcoming  until 
that  very  afternoon.  He  was  clothed  in  filthy  rags,  held 
together  bv  a  little  string ;  his  face  was  scarred  with 
disease,  and  dreadfully  emaciated  ;  and  his  ajipearance 
altogether  denoted  the  extremity  of  poverty  and  wretch- 
edness. He  gave  his  name  as  John  Raun.  "  Was  by 
trade  a  weaver,  but  had  been  out  of  work  for  several 
months.  Had  had  no  home  or  lodo^ino^  of  anv  kind  for 
weeks ;  no,  nor  a  good  meal  since  the  Derby  day,  when 
some  gentlemen  had  given  him  some  chicken  and  lobster, 
and  what  not,  out  of  their  drag.  Had  slept  in  one  or 
other  of  the  parks  most  nights  lately,  unless  when  it  was 
^vet,  when  he  had  used  the  Adelphi  arches.  Was  sleep- 
in  2:  in  Hvde  Park  on  the  nioht  of  the  eighteenth  of 
June,  under  a  big  tree,  not  far  from  the  north-eastern 
end  of  the  water.  Did  not  sleep  well,  because  of  pains 
in  the  joints,  to  which  he  was  subject,  and  woke  very 
often.  Was  awakened  about  daybreak  on  the  morning 
of  the  nineteenth,  and  could  not  go  to  sleep  again. 
About  au  hour  after  that  time,  or  perhaps  more,  he 
couldn^t  say  for  certain — the  clock  might  have  struck 
once  or  twice — he  saw  a  young  gentleman  coming 
towards  the  water  from  the  direction  of  Park  Lane. 
He  was  dressed  in  fine  clothes,  and  he  had  that  gilt 
thing  in  his  hand  with  flowers  in  it,  which  had  been 
shown  to  witness.  He  smelled  the  flowers  as  he  came 
along,  walking  very  slowly.  Had  seen  the  body  of  the 
deceased ;  it  was  not  he  as  came  along  by  the  water  first; 
witness  could  swear  to  that  (sensation).  His  attention 
was  called  to  the  young  gentleman  because  he  recognized 
him  as  having  been  one  of  those  who  gave  him  the  nice 
food  he  had  spoken  of  on  Epsom  Downs.  He  had  been 
particular  kind  to  him,  and  emptied  half  a  pie  and  some 
salad  into  his  hat.  Of  cotirse,  therefore,  witness  knowed 
him  again  very  well,  and  took  especial  notice.  Witness 
kept  himself  out  of  sight  behind  the  tree,  but  intended 
presently  to  come  out  and  beg  something.     Before  the 


396  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

young  man  got  off  the  green,  but  when  he  was  close  to 
the  roadway,  witness  saw  another  gentleman,  the  de- 
ceased, walking  very  swiftly  after  him/' 

Here  Frederick  Galton  put  down  the  newspaper,  and 
sat  for  a  little  looking  straight  before  him,  with  his  left 
hand  pressed  to  his  side.  Then  going  to  the  wash- 
hand  stand,  he  plunged  his  face  and  forehead  in  cold 
water,  and  then,  without  using  the  towel,  re-seated  him- 
self with  dripping  hair  close  to  the  open  window,  and 
read  on. 

''  Deceased  overtook  the  first  gentleman  just  as  he 
reached  the  water's  side,  and  seized  him  by  the  collar  of 
his  coat.  They  spoke  to  one  another  very  fierce  indeed ; 
witness  could  hear  that,  although  he  could  not  hear  what 
was  said.  He  saw  the  deceased  point  angrily  at  some- 
thing— it  seemed  to  be  at  the  gold  thing  which  held  the 
flowers — and  strike  the  other  in  the  face.  Then  they 
grappled  together  on  tlie  edge  of  the  water  and  fell  into 
it,  and  fought  and  struggled,  half  in  and  half  out  of  if, 
sometimes  one  atop,  and  sometimes  the  other;  but  at  last 
deceased  fell  undermost  altogether,  and  could  not  rise 
again.  Then  the  first  young  gentleman  got  up,  and 
shook  himself  free  of  the  other,  and  ran  off  towards  the 
Marble  Arch  ;  and  witness  ran  off  too  among  the  trees, 
lest  he  should  oet  himself  iuto  trouble.  He  had  not 
interfered  because  it  was  no  concern  of  his;  and  also 
because  the  gentleman  who  had  given  him  the  food 
at  Epsom  seemed  to  have  the  best  of  it  all  along. 
It  was  deceased  who  attacked  the  other,  and  not  the 
other  deceased;  he  had  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and 
struck  him  in  the  face;  no  blow  had  passed  before  that, 
witness  was  quite  sure.  Could  not  say  whether  deceased 
was  dead  or  not  when  the  gentleman  left  him,  but 
thought  not;  the  latter  seemed  to  have  a  difficulty  in 
getting  away — in  releasing  himself  from  the  hold  of  him 
who  was  undermost.  He  did  not  kneel  upon  deceased 
at  all,  but  had  his  fingers  on  his  throat,  as  the  other  had 
on  his.     He  ran  off  like  one  who  was  terrified  at  what 


AX     IXTE  RESTING     EVENT.  397 

had  been  done ;  his  clothes  were  very  wet,  of  course. 
Certainly,  witness  would  know  him  again  anywhere,  as 
he  knew  him  then  ;  it  was  not  every  gentleman  as  gave 
one  salad  and  pie.  The  reason  why  he  had  not  given 
any  information  to  the  police  until  that  day  was,  as  he 
had  said  before,  that  he  was  afraid. of  getting  into  trouble 
himself;  and  also  because  he  did  not  want  to  get  the 
gentleman  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him  into  trouble. 
He  (witness)  had  confided  the  whole  matter,  just  as  he 
had  now  related  it,  immediately  after  it  had  occurred,  to 
a  party,  who,  like  himself,  was  obliged  to  live  a  good 
deal  out  of  doors,  and  the  party  liad  sneaked  upon  him, 
and  given  information  to  the  peelers ;  that  was  how  he 
was  made  to  give  evidence  against  his  will.  He  had 
gone  into  the  country  tor  avoid  doing  so,  but  they  (the 
peelers)  had  tracked  him  out.  He  had  told  the  whole 
truth,  with  respect  to  the  details  of  the  struggle.  He 
had  not  exaggerated  the  violence  of  the  deceased  at 
all,  or  endeavored  to  mitigate,  out  of  gratitude,  that 
of  the  other  young  gentleman.  Witness  had  nothing 
more  to  sav,  and  was  sorry  to  have  had  to  say  so  much. 
Hoped  that  his  appearance  in  that  court  would  not  be 
considered  against  him;  everything  ?iT/s- against  you,  as  a 
general  rule,  with  the  peelers,  no  matter  what  you  did." 

Park-keeper  recalled :  '^  The  water  was  above  the 
bodv  when  he  first  discovered  it ;  and  he  should  say  at 
least  two  inches  over  the  mouth.  Had  heard  the  evi- 
dence of  last  witness.  Nothing  could  have  been  easier 
for  any  man,  however  exhausted,  than  to  have  dragged 
the  body  to  dry  land.  Tc  leave  a  man  in  such  a  position 
was,  in  his  opinion,  to  commit  murder." 

"Murder!"  "Murder!"  How  that  word— which 
he  had  been  looking  for.  all  along — seemed  to  repeat 
itself  in  Frederick's  eyes  throughout  the  next  sentence! 
And  why  did  they  begin  printing  in  red  ink  ?  How 
the  letters  danced  and  swung  before  hira !  What 
was  that  the  coroner  said?  A  column  of  words,  and 
over  the  page  nothing  but  "Murder,  murder,  murder!" 


398  3iAlii-lJLD      Dill.  EAT  II      HIM. 

What  did  the  jury  say?  That  could  be  read  easily 
enough,  at  least.'  The  artful  printers  had  done  it  iu 
2)hosphorus.     It  was  written  in  letters  of  flame: 

Wilful  murder  against  some  person  unknown. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

A    FEIEXD    IX    NEED. 

AS  Frederick  Gallon  read  the  words  with  which  the 
I\  last  chapter  closed,  the  miserable  strips  of  garden 
and  the  short  parallels  of  wall  upon  which  he  looked, 
faded  from  his  gaze  like  a  dissolving  view,  and  in  their 
place  a  thousand  windows,  filled  with  eager,  cruel  faces, 
seemed  to  hem  him  in.  The  lean,  bare  gravel  too,  was  alive 
with  them,  and  on  the  roofs  and  even  on  the  chimney  pots, 
they  crowded  together  close,  and  every  eye  was  on  hkn. 
As  thick  as  bees  they  clung,  but  not  so  black  as  such  a 
dense  crowd  should  be.  They  had  been  black  a  moment 
before ;  but  a  shadow  had  been  suddenly  withdrawn  as  it 
seemed,  and  then  all  was  light,  just  as  on  a  great  race- 
course, the  human  paving  of  the  grand-stand  gallery 
darkens  and  lightens  in  a  second,  as  ten  thousand  faces 
turn  to  left  and  right.  But  this  was  no  such  scene; 
there  was  no  course,  no  space — only  a  vast  sheet  of 
^vhite,  expectant  faces.     Ah,  he  knew  what  it  was  now. 

In  his  first  days  of  London  life — and  had  he  ever 
lived  anywhere  else?  Did  he  seem  to  know  anybody  in 
the  world  except  London  people  ?  Y^as  not  all  that  peace- 
ful part  of  his  brief  existence  in  Downshirc  a  mere  blissful 
dream? — In  his  first  few  month-  o"  his  literary  apprentice- 
ship, I  say,  he  had  made  a  practice  of  seeing  all  the  vari- 
ous spectacles  which  metropolitan  life  afforded,  no  matter 


A      F  R  I  E  X  D      IX      X  E  E  D  .  39i:> 

how  few  attractions  thov  might  possess  for  him  in  them- 
selves. Young  gentlemen  of  letters  sometimes  frequent 
very  questionable" places  willingly  enough,  under  the  pre- 
tence that  the  exigencies  of  their  profession  demand  that 
thev  should  make  themselves  acquainted  with  every 
aspect  of  humanity ;  and  perhaps  Frederick  Galton  had 
done  this.  But  when,  upon  a  certain  occasion,  he  had 
gone  to  the  Old  Bailey  to  witness  the  execution  of  a  fel- 
low-creature, it  was  certainly  not  from  any  love  of  the 
horrible.  He  had  not  enjoyed  that  terrible  spectacle  which 
the  law  still  now  and  then  gratuitously  provides  for  the 
rabble  after  the  old  Eoman  fashion.  It  had  filled  him 
with  loathing  and  dismay.  He  had  been  unable,  even 
then,  to  divorce  himself  from  the  position  of  the  imhappy 
criminal.  Suppose  (he  had  thought )  that  it  was  /  who 
am  presently  to  be  brought  out  into  that  open  space 
yonder,  and  then  to  be  strangled!  suppose  that  it  is 
for  me,  alive,  and  desiroiLS  of  living,  that  that  bell  is 
tolling ;  that  in  five  minutes  from  this  time  the  sun  and 
the  broad  heaven  are  to  be  shut  out  from  my  gaze  for- 
ever, and,  an  outlaw  from  the  world  of  men,  I  am  sud- 
denly, but  not,  ah  me,  not  unconsciously  cast  into  the 
black  gulf  of  death  I  Even  to  a  brutish  man,  such  a 
doom  is  almost  always  terrible;  but  to  one  like  Frederick, 
full  of  vitality,  of  youth,  of  imagination,  and  capable  of, 
nay,  instinct  with,  spiritual  as  well  as  physical  fear,  how 
stupendous  must  be  the  horrors  of  such  a  doom.  JIo^v 
wicked,  how  diabolically  cruel,  such  a  fate  must  seem  to 
him  that  is  about  to  undergo  it — no  matter  by  what 
crime  he  may  have  brought  it  upon  himself — when  a 
word  spoken  by  one  man  would  save  him,  perha}i>  even 
then,  or  a  few  lines  of  writing;  and  yet  nothing  is 
spoken,  nothing  written,  and  neither  hand  nor  voice  in 
all  that  countless  throng  of  his  fellow-men  is  raised  in 
protest.  The  last  sight"  his  eyes  will  gaze  upon,  and 
which  he  will  take  with  him  into  eternity,  is,  that  of  a 
sea  of  faces  bidding  him  no  God-speed,  but  if  not  feasting 
upon   his  dying  agonies,  coldly   watching   him   depart; 


400  MAREIED     B  E  X  E  A  T  PI     HIM. 

exactly  as  some  severe  landed  proprietor  might  watch  a 
trespasser  ^'  ofi  the  premises,"  and  caring  not  at  all,  so 
long  as  he  left  them,  whither  he  went. 

It  was  this  same  scene  which  now  recurred  to  Fred- 
erick Galton's  mind  Avith  hideous  distinctness ;  there  was 
no  gallows,  no  fujiereal  scaffold,  but  there  was  the  same 
countless  concourse  of  inexorable  faces  all  concentrated 
upon  a  single  point — himself.  He  was  about  to  be  hung 
before  them  all.  At  the  real  execution  scene,  leaning  out 
of  window  in  the  early  morning  (he  had  taken  with  others 
a  room  in  a  house  opposite,  the  night  before),  and  watch- 
ing the  ribald  crowd,  as  it  swayed  and  tossed,  he  had- 
wondered  within  himself  which  of  the  evil  faces  spread 
beneath  him  would  be  the  first  to  take  the  place  of  him 
who  was  about  to  suffer.  It  was  very  probable,  nay, 
almost  certain,  that  one  of  those  forty  thousand  ruffians 
would  earn  for  himself  the  same  shameful  end  ;  and 
which,  then,  would  it  be? — which?  Why,  who  but  he 
to  whom  every  eye  was  turned,  and  every  finger  was 
pointed,  even  noio  f  The  bell  had  been  tolling  tliis  long 
time,  and  the  people  were  getting  impatient  for  the  show. 
What  was  that  continued  knocking?  He  had  heard  it 
for  hours  through  that  night  before  the  hanging,  and 
never  did  carpenters'  work  give  forth  such  a  direful  sound. 
But  why  should  they  knock  now?  Perhaps  they  were 
getting  the  coffin  ready?  " Galton,  Galton  ! ''  Ay,  Galton 
was  his  name,  but  what  did  that  matter?  he  should  be 
a  mere  bundle  of  clothes  within  a  few  moments. 

"  Galton,  Galton  !   if  you   don't  open   the  door,  I'll- 
break  it  in,"  cried  a  voice  outside  the  room. 

Frederick  raised  his  head  from  the  w^indow-sill,  upon 
which  it  had  fallen — he  knew  not  how  long,  perhaps 
hours  ago,  perhaps  only  a  minute — and  slovrly  gathered 
himself  up.  Had  he  been  in  a  fit,  or  dreaming  ?  The 
newspaper  was  lying  on  the  ground,  with  the  huge  black 
heading  of  the  inquest  plainly  visible- — that  was  no 
dream,  alas !  Who  was  this  so  importunate  to  enter, 
that  he  threatened   to   break  his  wav  in  ?     Had   theV 


A      FRIEND      IX     NEED.  401 

found  out  the  murderer  already,  tlieu?  His  soul  was 
innocent  of  all  blood-stain ;  he  could  not  have  acted  dif- 
ferently, and  yet  preserved  his  own  life;  he  had  no  cause, 
or  scarcely  any,  so  far  as  this  matter  was  concerned,  to 
fear  God,  who  knew  all  things ;  but  he  had  great  cause 
to  fear  man,  who  knew  nothing,  but  would  suspect 
much.  "Why  had  he  not  at  once  given  himself  up  to  the 
police,  and  explained  all,  just  as  it  occurred?  How  vain 
it  Avas  to  dream  that  what  had  been  done  would  be  made 
known,  but  not  his  own  share  of  it !  Was  it  too  late  to 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it  even  now?  Yes;  too  late  by 
far.  Why,  the  butler  in  Park  street  had  not  only  seen 
him  with  the  bouquet-holder  given  by  Eugenie,  but  had 
even  offered,  as  he  left  the  house,  to  wrap  it  up  for  him ; 
Freke,  the  valet,  must  have  seen  it  also,  and  not  revealed 
the  fact  solely  upon  his  (Frederick's)  account.  Discovery 
was  certain,  and  it  would  not  be  slow.  God  help  his 
wife  and  child  I  -He  was  not  without  a  plan,  however, 
that  might  save  them  from  shame,  while  it  saved  him 
from  punishment.  He  knew  himself  to  be  a  match  for 
most  men  in  sagacity  and  mental  skill.  If  he  could  only 
recover  from  the  mere  shock  of  the  misfortune  that  had 
overwhelmed  him,  all  might  yet  be  well,  or  what  was 
well  by  contrast  vrith  what  miglit  be.  In  the  mass  of 
inky  cloud  Vvhich,  full  of  storied  thunder,  overhung  the 
present,  there  was  not  a  chink  of  light  to  be  seen  ;  but  far 
off — ever  so  far  away,  in  the  no  less  threatening  horizon 
— he  saw,  or  thought  he  saw  a  slender  ray  of  light. 
Upon  that,  henceforth,  he.  must  fix  his  eyes,  and  never — 
no,  not  for  one  single  instant — look  to  right  or  left,  but 
only  on  that  ray. 

There  had  been  silence  for  a  little  without,  but  now 
there  was  the  dull  sound  of  metal  applied  to  wood;  they 
were  placing  a  chisel  against  the  lock  of  the  door,  or  en- 
deavoring to  prise  it  open  with  a  crowbar.  Frederick 
strode  swiftly  forward,  and  turned  the  kev. 

"Come  in,"  cried  he;  "I  am  sorry  to* have  kept  you 
out  so  long,  whoever  vou  are ;  I  have  been  fast  asleep." 
25 


402  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

Three  anxious  and  excited  faces  met  his  own ;  those  of 
Mrs.  Gideon,  and  of  the  maid-of-all-work,  and  the  dis- 
tinguished lineaments,  transmitted  through  so  many 
generations,  of  Mr.  Percival  Potts.  The  first  two 
showed  unmistakable  signs  of  disappointment.  They 
had  expected  a  tragedy;  they  had  looked  for  blood 
slowly  oozing  from  under  the  door ;  and  to  hear  that 
their  queer  dodger  had  been  only  asleep  was  a  bathos. 
Mr.  Potts's  countenance,  on  the  other  hand,  expressed 
exceeding  relief. 

^^Upon  my  word,  Galton,'^  said  he,  "you  frightened 
me  not  a  little.  I  am  truly  glad  that  your  wife  was 
taking  her  walk  with  the  nurse  and  little  master,  else 
she  would  have  been  frightened  to  death." 

"Lor,  sir,  wdiat  a  turn  you  gave  us!"  exclaimed  the 
landlady  ;  "  leastways,  me  and  Martha  ;  and  nothing  to 
come  of  it,  after  all ! "  her  eye  Avandered  round  the  room 
in  search  of  traces  of  gore.  "  ^Yell,  we  ought  to  be  thank- 
ful  for  that,  at  all  events." 

"  1  am  a  very  sound  sleeper,"  returned  Frederick ; 
"you  ought  to  know  that,  Mrs.  Gideon,  by  this  time. 
Never  mind  picking  up  tlie  newspaper,  thank  you;  I 
rather  like  a  litter.  Xo ;  you  can  do  nothing  more  for 
me  ;  I  dare  say  this  gentleman  can  tell  me  without  your 
assistance  why  he  took  such  trouble  to  wake  me." 

The  landlady  and  her  myrmidon  withdrew,  and  Per- 
cival Potts  held  the  door  open  until  he  saw  them  well 
down-stairs;  then  closing  it,  and  speaking  very  slowly 
and  distinctly,  he  said  :  "  You  \vill  have  read  the  account 
of  the  inquest  on  young  Meyrick,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  Frederick. 

He  was  again  looking  out  of  the  window.  It  seemed 
as  if  Mrs.  Gideon's  grove  of  clothes-props  had  some 
strange  fiscination  for  himself,  for  he  never  withdrew 
his  gaze  throughout  the  subsequent  interview. 

"The  verdict  is  a  most  ridiculous  one,"  continued  the 
editor.  "  I  have  always  contended  that  the  whole  jury 
system  is  rotten  to  the  core ;   but  such  an  example  of 


A     FRIEND     IX     XEED.  403 

dulness  and  obstinacy  as  this" — lie  touelied  the  news- 
paper with  his  foot  contemptuously — "  has  npt  been 
given  for  many  a  day.  Nothing  could  be  clearer  than 
the  languatxe  of  the  coroner.  The  crime,  if  it  could  be 
called  a  crime,  did  hot  certainly  go  beyond  manslaughter 
^I  don't  mean  to  say  it  was  even  that — but  that  should 
have  been  the  extent  of  the  verdict.  If  this  beggar  and 
outcast  was  to  be  depended  upon  at  all — and  I  confess  I 
think  he  sjioke  the  truth — the  offence  committed  was 
Justifiable  Homicide;  if  he  invented  the  story  it  was 
Suicide.^' 

^^He  did  not  invent  the  story,"  said  Frederick, 
quietly. 

^^I  think  not,^'  returned  the  editor;  ^^and  everybody 
will  be  of  that  opinion.  The  fear  is" — here,  for#the  first 
time  he  ceased  to  gaze  at  a  tawdry  print  above  the  fire- 
place, and  stole  a  furtive  glance  at  Frederick — "the  fear 
is,  that  this  poor  wretch  will  be  credited  with  knowing 
more  than  he  has  chosen  to  reveal.  He  will  be  thought 
to  have  screened  the  man  for  whom  he  entertained  such 
grateful  sentiments,  and  to  have  given  a  rose-colored 
version  of  his  ])art  in  the  matter.  That  was  what  in- 
clined those  idiots,  contrary  to  the  direction  of  the 
coroner,  to  return  a  verdict  of — to  return  so  strained  a 
verdict.  It  may,  therefore,  go  very  hard  with  the  accused 
person — very  hard,  indeed." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Galtou 
entered  with  her  sweet  smile. 

"How  kind  of  you,  dear  Mr.  Percival  Potts"  (the 
editor  liked  to  be  called  by  both  these  titles,  and  if  he 
had  but  had  another  Christian  name,  would  have  most 
certainly  connected  them  together  by  a  hyphen),  "how 
very  kind  of  you  to  come  and  see  my  husband  ;  I  assure 
you,  you  are  highly  honored,  for  he  would  not  admit 
even  .Mr.  Johnson  into  his  sanctum  yesterday.  He  has 
been  very  unwell,  indeed ;  but  I  do  trust  he  has  turned 
the  corner  novr.     How  do  you  think  lie  is  looking?" 

"  If  I  am  to  speak  the  truth,  Mrs.  Galton,  I  think 


404  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

him  looking  far  from  well.  I  had  heard  bad  tidings, 
and  for  that  reason  I  came  here  to-day  upon  a  matter  in 
which  I  want  your  warmest  advocacy.  What  your  hus- 
band needs  is  an  immediate  change  of  air  and  scene.  He 
has  been  stived  up  here  in  town  too  long." 

"Ah,  that  is  (|uite  true,"  cried  Mary ;  "  now  do  per- 
suade him  of  that.  And  we  have  just  got  an  invitation 
down  to  Casterton.  Will  it  not  do  him  all  the  good  in 
the  world  to  spend  a  few  weeks  upon  the  breezy  downs? "' 

"  That  would  not  be  change  enough,"  replied  Mr. 
Potts,  positively  ;  "  he  should  leave  England  altogether, 
if  it  would  not  seriously  inconvenience  you,  Mrs.  Galton, 
and  that  at  once."  He  spoke  with  great  gravity  and 
earnestness,  and  Mary  ansvvxrcd  swiftly :  "  I  am  ready  to 
go  witk  him  to-morrow— to-night,  if  he  pleases — where- 
ever  it  is  thought  best  that  he  should  be.  All  places  are 
alike  to  me  where  my  husband  is." 

She  spoke  with  such  simple  gentleness,  that  Frederick 
turned  his  worn  white  face  towards  her  for  an  instant, 
yearningly. 

^'Crede  non  illam  tihi  de  scelesta^ 

"Plebe  delectam/'  exclaimed  the  editor,  with  enthusi- 
asm; "you  have  got  a  wife  to  be  proud  of,  Galton. 
Forgive  me,  my  dear  madam,  but  I  am  an  old  man,  and 
privileged  to  say  what  I  think." 

"  I  have  nothing  else  to  offer  him  but  my  love,  sir," 
observed  Marv,  quietly ;  "  where  did  you  think  that  he 
had  better  go?" 

"'I  have  arranged  a  plan  for  him  to  go  to  Sweden 
— as  our  special  cjrrespondent,"  answered  the  editor. 
"We  have  been  long  in  want  of  such  a  person  at  Chris- 
tiana." 

Frederick  made  an  effort  to  rise  from  his  seat,  but  bis 
strength  seemed  to  fail  him;  still  keeping  his  face 
averted  from  the  other,  he  held  out  his  hand,  and  Potts 
came  forward  and  took  it. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  my  friend ;  very.  I 
shall  never  fors^et  this." 


A      FRIEND     IX     XEED.  405 

^^A  vessel  starts  to-niglit — in  four  hours'  time — from 
London  Bridge/'  said  the  editor,  in  his  ear ;  "  I  have 
secured  acconnnodation  for  the  nurse  and  child,  as  well 
as  for  yourselves.     To-morroW  may  be  too  late." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you.  God  bless  you !  friend, 
indeed.     But  I  cannot  go." 

^^Does  your  wife  know?"  whispered  the  other.  Fred- 
erick shook  his  head. 

"  AVould  slie  know  if  she  read  the  incjuest?" 

'^  Yes,  I  think  so,'^  was  the  saur mured  reply. 

"  Mrs.  Galton,"  said  the  editor,  solemnly,  "  leave  your 
husband  to  me  for  a  few  minutes.  Take  this  paper  with 
you  to  pass  the  time."  Frederick  ground  his  heel  upon 
it,  as  though  he  would  nail  it  to  the  floor,  but  the  other 
dragged  it  away,  and  placed  it  in  her  hand.  ^^  Read  it, 
true  wife;  there Js  bad  news  in  it,  and  that  concerns  one 
beside  poor  Meyrick ;  but  you  will  know  how  to  bear  it, 
and  when  you  have  read  it,  come  back,  and  add  your 
voice  to  mine." 

She  looked  inquiringly  towards  Frederick,  but  he  did 
not  stir,  nor  even  turn  his  head.  She  j^assed  out  with 
the  paper  in  her  hand,  and  went  into  her  own  room. 
Her  husband  did  not  know  that  she  had  seen  him  retmni 
home  that  fatal  morning  with  dripping  garments,  and 
was  aware  of  his  attempt  to  dry  them,  or  had  heard  him 
tell  that  falsehood  about  the  coifee  to  Mrs.  Gideon,  or 
was  cognizant  of  his  putting  the  stair-clock  back — he 
knew  none  of  the  various  ways  in  which  he  had  betrayed 
himself  to  her  as  an  evil-doer — but  he  felt  very  sure  that 
the  mention  of  the  bouquet-holder  by  the  beggar-witness, 
would  instantly  bring  to  her  recollection  the  warning 
Eugenie  had  conveyed  to  him  through  her  unconscious 
hands,  and  thereby  reveal  to  her  the  fatal  truth.  He 
well  knew,  too,  that  she  would  never  counsel  him  to  fly. 

"To-morrow  may  be  too  late,  Galton,"  repeated  the 
editor,  breaking  the  painful  silence;  "think  again." 

"  I  have  thought ;  I  have  done  nothing  else  but  think, 
my  friend,  ever  since.     At  first  I  could  not  make  up  my 


406  M  A  E  R  I  E  D     BENEATH     HIM. 

mind.  It  was  tossed  to  aiul  fro  like  some  wretched 
craft  in  a  storm,  for  which  there  is  no  favoring  w^ind, 
whatever  blows,  and  every  coast  is  rock-girt.^' 

'^  Poor  lad,  poor  lad!"  the  sub-editor  of  the  Porcupine 
and  sole  conductor  of  the  chief  government  organ,  gave 
ocular  evidence — tears — of  his  being  merely  human  like 
the  rest  of  us.  "  But  consider,  Frederick,  my  dear  boy, 
we  must  steer  for  some  port." 

"I  know  that  vrell,"  groaned  Frederick;  "but  with 
respect  to  your  kind  offer,  you  have  had  my  answer.  I 
shall  stay  here.  Still,  if  my  wife  should  side  with  you, 
when  she  has  read  that  paper  !  'Ah,  '  true  wife,'  indeed 
— that  was  well  said !  The  best  on  earth,  and  I  have 
ruined  her — her  and  her  child,  too.  I  would  cut  my 
right  hand  off,  to  he  as  you  are  at  this  moment,  friend ; 
unmarried,  alone — bearing  my  own  burden  of  shame 
and  sorrow ! " 

"  But  surely,  Galton,  if  she  has  known  nothing  of  all 
this  before,  and  learns,  for  the  first  time,  wdiat  is  printed 
in  that  paper — ^should  her  judgment  be  relied  upon  to 
decide  a  question  like  this?" 

Frederick  smiled  sadly,  but  not  faintly.  "You  do  not 
know  her  yet ;  she  is  very  brave  and  very  wise :  for  has 
not  love  its  logic?  Hush!  she  is  coming  back  again. 
Let  it  be  ^  Yes '  or  ^  No,'  according  to  her  voice.  Well, 
dearest,  shall  we  sail  for  Sweden,  or  stay  here?" 

It  was  well  for  him  that  he  was  not  looking  at  her. 
There  are  stories  told,  almost  incredible,  of  strong  men's 
hair  turning  gray  in  one  long  night  of  agony,  but  Mary 
Galton  was  scarcely  less  changed  than  such  in  those  ten 
minutes.  Her  face  was  colorless,  even  to  her  lips.  Her 
saintly  eyes,  the  homes  of  unutterable  wretchedness, 
seemed  to  pine  within  their  hollow  niches  for  a  tear. 
Potts,  gazing  on  her  with  tender  pity,  trembled  for  her 
reason ;  yet  she  was  never  calmer,  more  self-possessed, 
more  heedful- — resolve  had  never  firmer  seat  than  on 
that  little  mouth.  She  put  her  arms  around  her  hus- 
band's neck,  and  kissed  him  once,  not  passionately,  but 


A     F  R  I  E  X  I>      IV      X  E  E  D  .  407 

setting,  as  it  were,  up<jii  hi?  cLcck  luc  =eal  of  her  fidelity 
and  love,  about  to  be  tried  bv  new  and  strange  ordeals. 
It  was  no  time  ''  to  sicken  and  to  swoon,"  nor  yet  for  toy- 
ing. Dinger — death,  perhaps,  was  threatening  her 
beloved.  ''  Let  us  not  sail,  my  love,"  whispered  she ; 
"  let  us  stay  here." 

''  We  stay,  my  friend,"  said  Frederick ;  "  we  do  not 
leave  England." 

"As  you  please,  Galton,"  replied  the  editor,  cheerfully. 
''  AVe  must  in  that  case,  do  what  we  can  on  another 
track.  I  shall  go  at  once  to  Griffiths — the  man  that 
played  Bassanio." 

Frederick  shook  his  head,  or  seemed  to  do  so.  Per- 
haps he  only  shuddered  at  some  recollection  which  that 
name  evoked. 

'^  Xay,"  cried  Potts,  '•  if  you  will  not  help  yourself 
your  friends  must  help  you." 

^"  His  friends  must  help  him,"  observed  Marv,  quietlv. 
"AYho  is  this  Griffiths?" 

"A  clever  lawyer,"  replied  Potts;  "a  man  to  triLst 
one's  life  to  before  a  jury.  Money  will  be  wanted,  of 
course;  and  the  Porcupine  shall  be  your  banker.  There 
will  be  no  difficulty  whatever — " 

Mary  flitted  from  the  room  and  retiu'ned  to  it  before 
he  could  finish  the  sentence,  swift,  calm,  and  noiseless  as 
a  ghost. 

"  Here  is  a  cheque  for  five  hundred  pounds,"  said  she ; 
"  take  it,  and  if  more  is  wanted,  it  will  be  forthcoming. 
I  never  felt  before  how  precious  gold  could  be." 

'"  I  will  take  it,"  said  the  editor,  rising,  "  since  you  can 
spare  it,  and  iLse  as  much  of  it  as  is  necessary — Whatever 
happens,  !Mrs.  Galton — rdiaiercr  happens,  do  not  lose 
heart — your  courage  will  be  tried  to  the  uttermost ;  but 
bear  up  for  his  sake." 

"  I  shall  bear  up,"  said  Mary. 

''  I  am  sure  you  will,  brave  heart !  Let  me  know 
everything  that  occurs.  You  may  feel  that  I  am  work- 
ing ceaselessly,  since  " — he  looked  towards  the  silent  and 


40S  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HlM. 

motionless  form  that  still  resolutely  kept  its  back  to 
them — "  since  he  will  not  work  himself.  Semjyer  con- 
stans  has  been  the  motto  of  the  Pottses,  madam,  for 
ages." 

The  editor's  last  sentence  was  a  vulgar  lie.  His 
ap])earance  was  far*  from  impressive,  or  even  gentle- 
manly ;  his  noble  sentiments  had  a  very  appreciable 
flavor  of  whiskey  about  them,  for  Mr.  Potts  could  not 
refrain  from  imbibing  that  admirable  liquor,  even  in  the 
daytime.  But  as  he  took  Mrs.  Galton's  hand  in  his,  and 
touched  it  with  his  lips,  an  air  of  genuine  chivalry  per- 
vaded him,  such  as  the  bearing  of  no  kuight  of  old — 
no,  not  that  of  the  "  Stainless  King ''  himself — could 
have  excelled. 


CHAPTER    XLIY. 

THE    TEXT    FROM    SAMUEL. 


MR.  PERCTYAL  POTTS  had  truly  observed, 
with  reference  to  his  friend's  proposed  departure, 
that  ^'  to-morrow  would  be  too  late."  Upon  that  very 
evening,  just  as  Frederick  had  retired  to  his  dressing- 
room,  there  came  a  hybrid  knock  to  the  front  door, 
administered  by  that  most  intelligent  and  active  officer. 
Inspector  Links.  He  had  none  of  the  paraphernalia  of 
justice  about  him,  save  what  could  be  carried  in  the 
pocket ;  but  Mary,  looking  from  her  window,  recognized 
his  errand  at  a  glance.  She  was  in  her  husband's  room 
and  in  his  arms  in  an  instant.  How  much  there  was  to 
sav  in  the  mere  span  of  time  that  was  left  to  them  I 
Ever  since  the  editor  had  gone  they  had  been  incessantly 
conversing — communing,  I  should  rather  call  it,  for  their 
talk  was  very  earnest  and  tranquil — and  yet  it  now 
s:  emed  that  they  had  said  nothing.     Both  had  avoided 


THE     TEXT     FROM     SAMUEL.  409 

altogether  that  subject  upon  which  all  other  tongues 
were  loose,  and  which  aifected  themselves  so  nearly. 
Yet  there  was  something  Frederick  had  meant  to  tell 
his  wife,  procrastinated  to  this  fatal  moment,  but  which 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  she  should  know  before 
they  parted,  this  was  with  reference  to  the  line  of 
defence  that  he  wished  his  counsel  to  adopt  upon  his 
trial.  As  he  had  told  his  friend  he  had  "  clone  nothing 
else  but  think  ever  since  '^ — that  is,  from  the  moment  he 
perceived  his  error  in  not  having  confessed  his  involun- 
tary share  in  Meyrick's  catastrophe — he  had  done  noth- 
ing else  but  devise  schemes  for  averting  irs  eonsecjuences 
to  himself.  Of  the  two  plans  which  had  most  often 
occurred  to  his  mind,  flight,  as  we  have  seen,  had  been 
discarded ;  the  other  still  remained.  He  had  always 
leaned  towards  it,  and  a  chance  expression  of  his  wife 
had  increased  his  confidence  therein ;  but  he  had  never 
told  her  what  it  was.  It  was,  indeed,  almost  impossible 
to  tell  her,  or  to  tell  any  one  directly.  The  difficulty  of 
expressing  it,  quite  as  much  as  the  disinclination  for  the 
subject  to  whicli^it  belonged,  had  hitherto  kept  him 
silent.  And  now  there  was  scarcely  time  for  speech  at 
all,  however  direct,  far  less  for  innuendo.  -Inspector 
Links,  who  had  nevertheless  made  no  unseemly  haste  in 
the  matter — since  an  ally,  in  plain  clothes,  was  watching 
^^  the  back,^  and  two,  in  blue,  the  front  of  the  little  man- 
sion, so  that  if  the  mouse  were  in  the  trap  at  all,  he  was 
quite  safe — Inspector  Links,  I  say,  having  thrown  a 
passing  glance  into  the  parlor,  Avas  even  now  coming  up- 
stairs, as  though  he  were  the  builder  whose  genius  had 
conceived  the  edifice,  or,  at  all  events,  as  one  who  pos- 
sessed a  very  accurate  plan  of  its  apartments,  and  had 
been  given  a  hint  with  respect  to  their  occupation.  He 
was  actually  at  the  threshold  of  the  room  marked  (in  his 
own  mind)  as  Mr.  Frederick  Galton's  dressing-room, 
and,  hearing  voices,  he  made  so  bold  as  to  look  in. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  mum,'^  said  he,  apologetically, 
yet  keeping  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  object  of  his  visit,  and 


410  MAERIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

not  on  the  lady ;  "  I  have  a  very  unpleasant  duty  to  per- 
form.    I  think,  mum,  you  had  better  withdraw.'' 

"What  is  your  business,  sir?"  inquired  Mary.  "Any- 
thing you  have  to  say  to  my  husband  may  be  spoken 
before  me." 

"  O,  this  is  Mr.  Galton,  is  it  ?  "  said  the  inspector,  not 
without  an  accent  of  relief,  for  it  was  a  case,  in  his 
opinion,  where  a  party  ought  to  have  "  bolted,  sharp," 
and  put  the  seas  between  him  and  the  possibility  of  a 
public  expression  of  censure  from  twelve  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen — "  then  it  is  my  painful  errand  to  make  you 
my  prisoner.  Shall  I  mention  the  charo^e  before  the 
lady?" 

"No,"  said  Frederick,  hurriedly.  "I  am  ready  to 
accompany  you,  Mr.  Inspector ;  but  please  to  let  me  have 
five  minutes'  private  talk  with  my  vrife  here ;  then  I 
shall  be  quite  at  your  service." 

Mingled  with  shame  and  wretchedness,  there  was 
enough  of  agonized  distraction  in  Frederick  Galton's 
countenance  to  excite  suspicion  in  eveii  a  less  prudent 
man  than  the  person  whom  he  addressed. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Galton,"  was  his  reply,  "  but 
the  charge  against  you,  as  you  are  doubtless  aware,  is  a 
most  serious  one.  You  will  have  plenty  of  opportunities 
of  seeing  your  wife — subject  to  the  regulations  of  the — 
the  place  whither  I  am  about  to  convey  you ;  but,  upon 
my  own  responsibility,  I  dare  not,  sir,  leave  you,  either 
alone  or  together,  with  her  in  private.  You  can  say 
anything  you  please  to  her  in  my  presence ;  but  I  warn 
you  to  be  cautious,  if  you  are  about  to  speak  with  refer- 
ence to  the  crime  of  which  you  stand  accused,  since  any 
admission  may  be  used  against  you  at  your  trial.  If 
you  wish,  on  the  other  hand,  to  speak  only  of  domestic 
matters,  a  peace-officer  should  have  no  ears  in  such  a 
case,  and  you  may  consider  me  as  not  being  present." 

"You  are  very  kind,  sir,"  said  Mary,  humbly. 

How  stupendous  seemed  this  man's  power,  who  could 
carry  off  her  husband  in  an  instant,  before  her  very  eyes; 


THE     TEXT     I-'  E  O  31     b  A  M  U  E  L .  411 

and  how  great  his  mercy  since  he  did  not  do  so,  but  lent 
him  to  her  for  a  few  priceless  minutes  still ! 

"  Bring  me  our  child/'  whispered  Frederick ;  and 
Mary  ran  to  fetcli  him  from  his  cot  up-stairs. 

The  little  innocent  being  of  a  sprightly  nature,  and 
always  more  ready  for  caress  than  sleep,  stretched  out  its 
arms  and  clung  to  its  father,  in  a  manner  that  moved 
Mr.  Links  himself. 

Then  came  tlie  parting  l^etween  the  husband  and  wife, 
which  was  silent  and  terrible.  Xeither  knew  exactly 
wlien  they  would  meet  again,  but  they  both  knew — 
whenever  it  was — that  it  would  be  in  Xewgate. 

"Remember  me  to  all,  dearest,  who  do  not  forget  me 
in  my  trouble ;  and  let  Bassanio  know,  to-morrow — do 
not  tell  him,  but  only  give  him  to  understand — that  I 
take  great  comfort  from  this  book."  He  touched  a  Bible 
lying  on  the  table,  in  which  they  had  been  reading 
together  not  an  hour  before. 

"  Yes,  Frederick.^'  There  vras  not  a  trace  of  wonder 
in  her  face ;  to  the  outward  eye — or,  in  other  words,  to 
Mr.  Ins})ector  Links — siie  appeared  almost  too  stupefied 
with  sorrow  to  understand  vrhat  was  said.  But,  in 
reality,  like  Dionysius'  chamber,  she  was  all  ear;  she 
drank  in  every  syllable  like  precious  drops  in  drought. 

"  I  have  just  marked  the  verse  that  gives  me  greatest 
comfort." 

He  spoke  these  words  with  great  distinctness,  and  very 
differently  from  the  inarticulate  farewell  that  followed. 
There  was  a  cab  at  the  door,  with  some  one  inside  already ; 
Frederick  entered  and  took  his  seat  by  the  side  of  this 
person.  The  inspector  followed,  sitting  with  his  back 
to  the  horse,  which  did  not  make  him  ill.  He  could 
accommodate  himself  to  mo^^t  situations  in  life.  The 
vehicle  drove  off,  -watched  In'  ISlary — the  most  miserable 
woman,  perhaps,  in  all  wretched  London.  Yet  she  shed 
no  tear;  she  had  something  else  to  do  than  weep.  She 
went  up-stairs  to  Frederick's  room — how  unspeakably 
lonely  and  deserted  it  had  grovrn  v.ithin  that  minute  or 


4l2  MAERIED      BEXEATH     HIM. 

two — and  opened  his  Bible,  in  the  place  where  he  had 
folded  down  the  leaf.  It  vras  at  the  twenty-first  chapter 
of  the  First  Book  of  Samuel,  and  there'  was  a  slight 
pencil-mark  at  the  thirteenth  verse :  "And  lie  changed 
his  behavior  before  them,  and  feigned  himself  mad  in 
tlieir  hands.^^ 

She  carefully  erased  the  pencil-mark,  and  straightened 
back  the  leaf.  But  the  words  were  stereotyped  in  her 
own  mind  from  that  time  forth — and  the  meaning  of  the 
words. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

FOEEWAEXED    AND    FOREAEMED. 

SERIOUS  trouble  has  an  enormous  power  of  attrac- 
tion. There  are  some  persons  connected  to  us  by 
blood  or  marriage,  whom  we  never  see  except  at  the 
funerals  of  one^s  common  relatives.  Nothing  short  of 
death  brings  us  together  at  present,  but  it  is  probable 
that  if  the  suspicion  of  a  great  crime  fell  upon  ourselves, 
it  would  have  the  same  effect.  The  second-cousin,  or 
the  wife's  uncle — as  the  case  may  be — would  hurry  up 
to  the  scene  of  action  from  Cornwall  or  the  depths  of 
Wales,  full  of  interest  for  the  connection  who  had  so 
unexpectedly  become  a  felon  in  embryo.  The  same 
sympathy  might  not  be  manifested  after  conviction,  but 
vrhile  the  matter  was  in  duhio,  even  the  most  distant 
branches  of  the  family  tree  would  undoubtedly,  as  the 
phrase  runs,  '^  rally  round  one.''  If  this  would  be  the 
effect  upon  one's  wife's  uncle,  it  would,  of  course,  be 
vastly  intensified  with  one's  personal  friends.  I  don't 
mean  to  say  that  all  the  expressed  sympathy  would-be 
genuine,  nor  even  that  your  misfortune  might  not  be  a 
positive  satisfaction  to  some  vile  minds,  but  for  the  most 


FOREWARNED  AXD  FOREARMED.   413 

part,  it  would  be  well-meant  and  trllst^\ orthy.  Even 
tlie  public  at  large  feels  pity  for  an  accused  person,  and 
would  save  him,  even  if  guilty — siipjiesing  that  there 
were  no  particular  circumstances  to  excite  their  indigna- 
tion— from  the  extremity  of  the  punishment  which  his 
crime  has  earned.  We  may  easily  imagine,  therefore, 
what  pity,  as  well  as  amazement,  the  arrest  of  Frederick 
Galton  produced  among  all  those  persons  with  whom  we 
have  been  made  acquainted  in  this  history.  How  the 
news  that  Master  Frederick  was  accused  of  having  mur- 
dered the  young  Squire  fell  upon  quiet  Casterton,  and 
froze  all  hearts  with  horror;  how  the  woe,  in  which  the 
Grange  was  already  plunged,  was  deepened  by  it ;  hov\^ 
Mr.  Tregarthen  broke  out  with  an  ancestral  oath  or  two, 
and  thanked  God,  very  heartily,  that  good  old  Dr.  Galton 
had  not  lived  to  see  that  day  ;  how  the  crippled  pensioner 
prayed  that  such  things  might  not  be  true,  and  Jacob 
Lunes  tore  the  lying  newspaper  in  twain  that  brought  it. 
How  Farmer  Groves  said  he  could  never  believe  it,  but 
did  believe  it  nevertheless,  and  took  a  fearful  joy  in 
talking  of  the  matter  to  all  he  met.  How  IMrs.  Hartopp 
fell  down  like  one  in  a  fit  when  the  thing  was  told  her, 
and  never  (as  was  subsequently  said  with  truth)  was  the 
same  woman  again.  How  the  Eev.  Robert  !Morrit 
I'eceived  it,  none  could  tell  by  his  outward  looks ;  but  if 
he  w-as  stunned,  he  was  not  stupefied,  for  he  instantly 
wrote  a  business-letter  respecting  the  transference  of  his 
( lerical  duties  for  an  indefinite  period,  and  putting  his 
cheque-book  in  his  pocket,  came  uj)  forthwith  to  Somers 
Town.  How  the  news  broadened  on  to  Oldborough, 
and  darkened  the  shadow  of  the  limes  upon  the  cottage, 
and  blanched  the  widow's  russet  cheek,  and  palsied  for  a 
moment  even  the  quick  intelligence  of  Jane  Perling; 
yet,  scarce  a  tremulous  word  was  spoken  ere  her  nimble 
fingers  were  busy  packing  up  such  things  as  were  need- 
ful, and  ^lary  had  her  mother  and  sister  Jane  to  bide 
with  her  in  her  great  trouble  before  the  next  morning 
dawned.     How  it  flashed  down  to  Camford,  where  the 


414  MAERIED     BEXEATR 

memory  of  the  brilliant  Frencliman  was  stil]  alive,  and 
the  disgrace  of  ]Meyrick  had  not  ceased  to  be  a  topic  for 
talk  at  Undergrad.uate  "  wines."  How  the  dreary  old 
dons,  in  combination  rooms,  snapped  at  the  subject  like 
sharks  who,  after  a  long  fish-diet,  share  amongst  them  a 
])]ump  sailor-boy.  How  this  and  that  bright  saying  of 
Frederick's  in  his  palmy  time  -was  repeated  and  greedily 
listened  to;  and  how  all  that  had  known  him,  however 
slightly,  including  the  old  porter  at  Minim  Hall,  found 
themselves  suddenly  lions.  How  Mrs.  Hermann  clasped 
her  hands,  and  trembled  to  think  how  she  had  once  har- 
bored a  murderer,  or,  at  all  events,  had  showed  him 
great  hospitality,  and  tliat  at  a  considerable  expense ;  and 
how  the  crood  doctor  rebuked  her,  in  a  manner  altogether 
beyond  experience,  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  own  study 
to  mourn  over  the  lad,  who  was  even  as  the  apple  of  his 
own  eye,  and  had  altogether  usurped  the  place  of  the 
Greek  particles  in  his  heart's  affections. 

Nor  was  the  excitement  less  in  London  itself,  where, 
if  Frederick  Galtou  had  few  old  friends,  he  liad  many 
new  ones,  ready  enough  to  acknowledge  the  intimacy  with 
him,  at  a  time  when  each  acknowledgment  could  be  ex- 
changed for  an  invitation  to  dinner.  The  dowager  Lady 
Ackers  had  forbidden  the  painful  subject  to  be  alluded  to 
in  her  presence,  connected  as  she  unhappily  was  by  friend- 
ship with  the  family  of  the  victim,  and  by  accpiaintance- 
ship  with  the  accused  himself;  but  Sir  Geoffrey,  on  the 
contrary,  w^as  a  strong  partisan  of  the  latter,  touched  by 
the  remembrance  of  their  college  days,  and  partly,  per- 
haps, by  the  consciousness  that  he  had  behaved  somewhat 
harshk^  to  Frederick  in  the  matter  of  that  visit  to  his 
intended  in  Grosvenor  Square.  ^'  The  poor  young  fellow 
had  been  half  out  of  his  mind  all  along,"  said  he,  "and 
should  not  be  judged  like  some  folks.  Every  man  who 
knew  him  at  Camford  used  to  call  him  Mad  Galton. 
Why,  he  was  stark  mad  to  have  married  as  he  did.  It 
was  ridiculous  to  put  a  fellow  like  that  in  Xewgate,  and. 
try  him  for  murder."    AVe  have  seen  how  Percival  Potts 


FOEEWARXED  AND  FOREARMED.   415 

was  bestirring  himself  loyally  for  the  man  who  had  been 
once  his  enemy,  and  we  may  be  sure  that  Mr.  Jonathan 
Johnson  was  not  behind-hand  in  good  offices.  Both 
gentlemen  had  seen  the  bouquet-holder  in  Frederick's 
hand  when  they  parted  from  him  in  Park  Lane  that 
eventful  morning,  and  so  soon  as  they  knew  where  it  had 
been  found,  they  communicated  to  one  another  their  sus- 
picions. Neither  had  attributed  to  Frederick  a  worse 
part  in  the  sad  catastrophe  than  he  had  really  taken ; 
their  sagacity  had  in  fact  possessed  them  of  the  precise 
circumstances  of  the  case,  even  before  the  coroner's  in- 
quest; but  a  jury,  as  they  were  well  aware,  would  not  be 
composed  of  such  men  as  they,  whose  own  judgment, 
moreover,  w*ould  doubtless  have  been  less  lenient,  had 
they  not  known  their  man.  They  trembled  for  the  result 
of  a  trial.  They  had  suggested  flight — for  the  proposal 
had  come  from  their  united  counsels — not  because  they 
feared  that  the  verdict  of  wilful  murder,  or  anything 
nearly  so  serious,  would  be  maintained  in  a  criminal 
court,  but  because  they  felt  that  Frederick  Galton  would 
be  incapable  of  enduring  any  punishment,  however  slight, 
which  might  be  accorded  to  a  felon.  They  knew  that  a 
sensitive  nature  like  his  must  needs  break  down  under 
it,  and  that  if  he  survived  it  even,  he  would  never  be  fit 
for  anything  afterwards.  The  law,  in  imposing  imprison- 
ment as  the  penalty  of  his  offence,  would,  in  fact,  be 
awarding  death,  or  at  all  events,  utter  ruin.  When,  there- 
fore, Frederick  Galton  firmly  declined  to  take  advantage 
of  the  offer  of  a  passage  to  Sweden,  Mr.  Potts  had 
returned  to  Mr.  Johnson's  quarters  greatly  crestfallen. 

^'  My  opinion  is  that  nothing  can  save  the  poor  lad 
now,  Johnson.  Whatever  he  gets  from  the  judge,  will 
drive  him  mad.  If  you  had  only  seen  him  as  I  have  just 
seen  him — silent,  shrinldng,  haggard — you  would  almost 
have  thought  he  was  mad  already." 

]Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson  held  up  his  finger,  as  if  to  ask 
for  a  little  time  for  thought;  then  after  a  long  pause, 
placing  it  upon  the  other's  sleeve,  he  whispered  earnestly  : 


416    -  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

^'  Don't  you  think  that  it  might  be  proved  in  court  that 
he  Tias  been  ma — ma — mad  all  along  ? '' 

Upon  this  te;xt  the  two  editors  held  close  discourse -for 
more  than  an  hour,  after  which,  late  as  it  was,  they  went 
off  together  in  a  Hansom  cab  to  the  residence  of  that 
eminent  attorney,  Mr.  Ciene    Hans.     This    immaculate 
gentleman,  being  put  in  possession  of  the  result  of  tlieir 
deliberations,  at  first  did  nothiiTg  but  shake  his  head,  and 
utter  the  two  monosyllables,  "  Won't  do,  won't  do ; "  but 
eventually,  the  matter  being  more  fully  set  before  him  in 
all  its  bearings,  he  condescended  to  observe  that  the  idea, 
might  be  valuable,  and  should  have  his  best  attention. 
So  valuable,  indeed,  did  Mr.  Clene  Hans  consider  it,  that 
immediatelv  after  breakfast  next  morning  he  set  out  for 
Mr.  Griffiths'  chambers,  with  a  whole  plan  of  operations 
born  of  the  said  idea,  mapped  out  in  his  subtle  brain, 
readv  to  lay  before  that  gentleman.     It  would  have  been 
difficult  for  the  present  writer,  not  being  of  the  legal 
profession,  to  describe  the  delicate  and  cautious  methods 
by  which  the  sagacious  attorney  would  have  approached 
the  subject  in  hand — would  have  broken  to  his  counsel 
the  rather  startling  proposition  of  defending  from  the 
charge  of  wilful  murder  upon  the  plea  of  insanity,  a  client 
whom  both  probably  believed  to  IjesanC ;  but  Mr.  Griffiths 
himself  relieved  the  attorney  (an.d  with  him  myself)  from 
his  somewhat  embarrassing  position,  by  remarkiiig  at  the 
outset,  that  he  owed  Mr.  Clene  Hans  an  apology  for  hav- 
ing done  a  somewhat  unprofessional  thing  that  morning, 
since,  without   attorney  intervention,    he   had   received 
instructions  concerning  that  unhappy  case  of  Mr.  Fred- 
erick Galton's.     In  point  of  fact  Mrs.  G^lton  herself  had 
left  him  only  a  few  minutes  ago  after  a  protracted  inter- 
view ;  and  he  was  happy  to  say — here  Mr.  Griffiths,  who 
was  nursing  his  knee  after  the  usual  chamber-practice 
fashion,  got  immensely  interested  in  the  toe  of  his  elevated 
boot.     Yes,  he  was  truly  gratified  to  say  that  the  case 
might  be  divested  of  its  criminal  aspect — its  more  painful 
features  upon  the  ground  of-— 


F  0  R  I.  V'-  A  i;  X  £  L>      A  X  D     FOREARMED.      417 

"  It  seems  from  what  his  friends,  Messrs.  Potts  and 
Johnson,  were  telling  me  last  night,"  said  the  attorney, 
filling  up  an  awkward  pause,  "that  the  poor  fellow  is  as 
mad  as  a  March  hare." 

"  Just  so,"  said  the  barrister,  letting  his  leg  down  for 
the  first  time,  "  our  plea  is  insanity.  I  met  him  myself 
curiously  enough  on  the  very  night  of  the  occurrence  at 
this  Meyrick's  own  house,  and  he  seemed  to  be  a  strange 
fish — verv.  He  has  had  the  sense  to  marry  an  excellent 
wife,  however,  and  yet  I  have  heard  that  there  was  some- 
thing queer  even  about  that." 

"  It  is  a  pity  we  cannot  subpcena  yov,  Mr.  Griffiths," 
observed  the  attorney,  slyly ;  "  Johnson  and  Potts  will 
both  give  strongish  evidence,  I  should  think." 

"Very  good/'  replied  Mr.  Griffiths;  "here's  a  long 
list  of  witnesses  to  be  written  to.  That  woman's  head  is 
straight  upon  her  shoulders,  whetlier  her  husband's  is 
turned  or  not;  she  was  as  quiet  and  collected  as  you  are. 
We  must  get  Dr.  Beebonnet  or  Dr.  Crotchet  to  see  the 
poor  fellow  in  Xewgate ;  the  medical  evidence  will  be  of 
vast  importance." 

"  We  had  better  have  them  both,'^  remarked  the  attor- 
ney. "  The  more  '  Experts '  we  have  the — eh  ?  "  Mr. 
Cfene  Hans  finished  his  sentence  with  an  expressive 
twinkle  of  his  eye. 

"Certainly,"  returned  the  barrister,  with  an  answering 
smile.  "  I  should  recommend  ten  instead  of  two,  if  it 
was  not  all-important  to  keep  our  line  of  defence  as  dark 
as  possible." 

Mr.  Griffiths  was  well  aware — perhaps  even  from  per- 
sonal experience — how  easy  it  is  for  men  to  fully  persuade 
themselves  of  anything  which  is  in  accordance  with  their 
own  interests  ;  there  is  a  still  less  difficult  task  when,  in- 
stead of  interest,  some  softer  passion,  such  as  friendship, 
love,  or  even  pity,  inclines  us  to  accept  an  idea  ;  for  in  that 
case,  confident  that  we  are  actuated  by  no  selfish  motive, 
we  immediately  fall  a  prey  to  our  own  good  impulses. 
Hence,  let  it  not  be  imagined,  because  such  of  Frederick 
26 


418  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

Galton's  friends,  as  it  was  thought  desirable  to  communi- 
cate with  upon  the  subject,  all  more  or  less  fell  into  the 
new  theory  as  to  the  unsound  state  of  his  mind,  that  they 
did  anvthiuo:  dishonest  in  so  doin^. 

Did  you  ever  have  any  reason  to  suppose,  from  any- 
thing Mr.  Frederick  Galton  has  said  or  done,  that  he  was 
laboring  under  mental  aberration  ?  Have  his  opinions 
been  always  consonant  with  those  of  a  sane  mind  ?  Has 
not  his  behavior,  within  your  own  knowledge,  been  often 
outre  and  extravagant  ?  Have  you  ever  heard  it  remarked 
by  others  that  he  was  strange  and  eccentric  to  an  extraor- 
dinary degree?  Have  you  ever  made  a  remark  to  this 
effect  yourself,  and  if  s(T  to  whom  ?  etc.,  etc. 

These  are  cpiestions  which,  being  put  to  our  friends 
even  in  a  careless  manner  respecting  our  own  selves, 
would  not  be  answered  upon  the  instant.  They  would 
most  of  them  pause  a  little,  and  perhaps  even  admit  that 
now  they  began  to  think  about  it,  there  had  certainly 
been  always  something  strange  about  us,  and  which  had 
been  very  unaccountable  to  them.  If  these  inquiries,  the 
object  of  them  being  unknown,  were  headed  Private,  and 
emanated  from  a  legal  firm,  nine-tenths  of  the  respondents 
would  decline  to  commit  themselves  to  any  opinion  upon 
so  very  open  a  question  as  that  of  our  being  mad  or  sane. 
But  if  the  avowed  intention  was  to  save  us  from  the  gal- 
lows, the  suspicion  always  existing  as  to  the  unhappy 
state  of  our  mind  would  be  found  to  have  been  almost 
universal  among  those  who  knew  (and  loved)  us  best. 
We  must  have  had  quite  a  specialty  for  the  commonplace 
if  a  hundred  acts  which  we  have  done  in  our  lives  did 
not  bear  a  very  eccentric  appearance  from  that  point  of 
view.  It  would  not  much  signify  what  particular  crime  we 
committed — except  that  the  worse  it  was  the  better — for 
we  should  always  find  a  score  of  honest  people  to  protest 
that  it  was  nothing  more  than  they  had  expected  all  along. 

By  the  week's  end,  Mr.  Clene  Hans  was  in  the  posses- 
sion of  such  testimony  as  made  him  believe  in  the  insanity 
of  his  unfortunate  client  Cjuite  as  firmly  as  he  believed  in 


i:'  O  E  E  TT  /   E  X  E  I)     A  X  D      FORE  A  I:  M  E  D  .       4J  '■' 


aiiv 


thiii^  ei:-v  ,  auv;  .ii.  i_)i...iLij^^  Luaiiks  to  repeated  iu- 
terviev.s  with  Mi's.  Galton,  had  accomplished  the  same 
meutal  feat  within  eveu  a  less  period.  The  kink  in  the 
cable  which  was  otherwise  running  smoothly  out  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  concerned,  occurred,  as  it  often  does, 
exactly  where  nothing  of  the  kind  was  ap])rehended — 
namely,  with  respect  to  the  medical  evidence.  Mr.  Clene 
Hans  had  been  unwise  in  engaging  two  such  very  dis- 
tinguished authorities  as  Drs.  Beebonnct  and  Crotchet. 
Either  of  them  would  have  done  his  work  admirably 
alone,  or  in  conjunction  with  one  too  insignificant  to  be  a 
rival;  but  their  reputations  as  mad  doctors  were  too 
European  to  admit  of  their  acting  in  unison.  Each  had 
his  theory,  in  defence  of  which  he  would  have  gone  to 
the  scaffold,  or.  at  all  events,  as  in  the  present  case,  would 
have  cheerfully  let  another  man  go  there,  ratiier  than 
give  it  up.  They  had  each  written  a  book  upon  Dementia 
Afhentitla,  out  of  either  of  which  uineteen-twentieths  of 
the  human  race  coidd  be  proved  to  be  eligible  for  Han- 
well  ;  but  they  differed  upon  the  vital  question  of  how 
people  ouglit  to  go  mad.  There  is  a  right  way  and  a 
wrong  way  of  doing  everything,  and  whether  Frederick 
Galton  fulfilled  all  the  proper  conditions  in  taking  leave 
of  his  senses  was  tlie  question  in  point.  Of  course  he  did 
not  himself  allow  that  he  was  mad — no  really  mad  person 
ever  does  that ;  and  no  sane  person  of  intelligence  who 
thinks  of  pretending  to  be  mad  would  ever  dream  of 
doing  it.  He  would  be  an  audacious  impostor,  indeed, 
who  would  counterfeit  Mad  Tom  to  the  life.  The  pan- 
tomime of  the  Insane  is  perfect,  each  passion  being  imi- 
tated by  unmistakable  signs;  and  even  if  this  could  be 
satisfactorily  parodied,  it  would  require  the  vigilance  of 
Argus  to  subdue  every  impulse,  to  fetter  every  mobile 
feature,  and  to  hush  every  syllable  upon  the  lips  which 
Xature — who  is  sane  above  all  things — suggests  continu- 
ally even  to  the  most  habitual  dissembler.  There  were  a 
thousand  circumstances  attendant  upon  his  position  quite 
sufficient  to  make  poor  Frederick   Galton  appear  very 


420  :ir  A  R  Tv  I E  D    b  e  x  e  a  t  h    him. 

diiierent  from  the  rest  of  his  fellow-creatures.  He  had 
genuine  fits  of  frenzy  when  there  seemed  nothing  for  it 
but  to  dash  his  head  against  the  prison  walls,  and  so  to 
end  life  and  shame  together;  but  generally  he  was  sullen 
and  passive,  which  was  the  very  best  thing,  for  the  object 
he  had  in  view,  Avhich  he  could  do.  Still,  Dr.  Crotchet 
had  doubts,  principally  because  Dr.  Beebonnet  had  none, 
and  was  understood  to  disbelieve  in  the  bond  fide  character 
of  their  patient's  or  client's  supposed  madness.  It  would" 
be  very  awkward  to  have  to  put  the  latter  gentleman  in 
the  witness-box  alone,  and  to  be  compelled  to  admit  in 
•cross-examination  that  their  other  expert  had  leaned  to 
the  side  of  the  prosecution.  Yet  there  was  only  one 
more  interview  to  be  held  between  the  doctors  and  the 
accused.  Mr.  Clene  Hans  would  have  given  fifty  pounds 
to  have  been  able  to  prove  dementia  ncdundis,  against 
Crotchet  himself  '^Obstinate  old  idiot''  was,  indeed, 
the  very  expression  which  he  privately  applied  to  him. 
It  seemed  as  if  even  Mary  Galton,  who  was  "  moving 
Heaven  and  earth  "  for  her  husband's  good,  could  be  of 
no  possible  use  in  such  a  hitch  as  this ;  nor  could  she 
have  been  but  for  the  following  circumstance.  Having 
permission  to  see  her  husband  every  day,  although  never 
without  the  presence  of  some  attendant,  she  had  taken 
the  fullest  advantage  of  that  privilege.  On  a  certain 
afternoon,  while  on  her  way  towards  Xewgate  as  usual 
with  her  mother  (who  waited  for  her  outside  the  prison, 
but  could  never  be  induced  to  go  inside),  a  little  ragged 
boy  brushed  by  her,  and  as  he  did  so,  put  a  letter  in  her 
hand.  They  were  on  the  wrong  side  of  a  crossing  at  the 
moment,  and  widow  Perling's  mind  was  far  too  deeply 
occupied  with  the  perils  of  the  way  before  them  to  have 
any  eyes  except  for  the  vehicles,  each  of  which  was  to  her 
as  a  car  of  Juggernaut.  The  note  was  written  in  pencil 
upon  the  leaf  oi*  a  pocket-book,  and  ran  thus  :  "  I  must 
see  you,  Mary  dear,  before  you  see  your  husband  this 
day,  and  in  private.     I  am  following  you  now. 

"  EUGEXIE." 


FOHEWAEXED   AND   FOREARMED.   421 

''  Mother/'  said  Mary,  holding  up  this  scrap  of  paper, 
'•I  have  just  got  news  telling  nie  I  must  go  on  alone. 
I  will  see  vou  safelv  into  a  cab,  bur  I  must  go  bv  myself 
to-day." 

A  few  weeks  back,  Mrs.  Perling  would  never  have 
consented  to  leave  her  daughter  thus  in  the  crowded 
streets;  but  their  relative  positions  were  now  reversed. 
It  seemed  as  if  ^lary  was  competent  to  take  care  of  any- 
body, including  her  sweet  self. 

"You  know  l)est,  dear/'  returned  the  old  lady,  simply. 
and  submitted  to  be  placed  in  a  four-wheel  as  unresist- 
ingly as  luggage. 

Then  Mary  looked  back,  but  only  saw  a  number  of 
strangers  of  her  own  sex  crowding  around  the  window  of 
a  fashion-shop.  She  did  not  recognize,  at  first,  the 
graceful  form  of  Eugenie  in  widow's  weeds. 

The  two  women  wrung  one  another's  hands  without  a 
word.  Then,  '^ Where  can  we  go  to  be  alone?"  said 
Mrs.  Meyrick.  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you  that  must 
be  told  af  once." 

There  are  not  many  places  in  London  where  ladies  can 
step  in  together  and  converse  in  private.  The  only  place 
of  refuge  that  offered  itself  to  these  two  was  a  pastry- 
eook^s  shop.  There — sitting  at  a  small  smeared  table 
before  a  couple  of  nith  basins  of  untouched  soup,  and 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  economical,  genteel  females, 
come  up  from  the  suburbs  for  a  day's  shopping  in  town, 
and  partaking  of  their  midday  meal — the  widow  of  the 
slain  and  the^ wife  of  the  slayer  held  their  talk.  Few 
scenes  could  have  been  more  incongruous  with  such  a 
meeting;  and  vet,  perhaps,  neither  of  them  knew  that 
thev  were  otherwise  than  alone. 

"  How  is  Monsieur  de  Lernay  ?  "  inquired  Mary. 

"My  father  is  dying/'  returned  the  other,  sluiddering. 
"Let  us  not  talk  of  that.  I  am  come  to  speak  of  the 
living,  for  whom  there  is  yet  hope.  Listen.  I  was  in 
the  citv  this  morning,  upon  business  connected  with  our 
removal  to  Lozere.     His  native  air  is  recommended  to 


422  M  A  E  R  I  ED     B  E  X  IE  A  T  H      HI  M  .. 

my  poor  father,  though  I  doubt  whether  he  will  live  to 
breathe  it.  I  was  caught  in  that  storm  this  morning, 
and  got  into  an  omnibus — I  am  humble  enough,  dear 
Mary,  now,  and  no  longer  rich — and  next  to  me  there 
sat  two  gentlemen,  whose  names  I  do  not  tnow  even  now, 
but  they  are  kno\Yn  to  you.  They  spoke  in  French, 
because  the  omnibus  was  full  of  people,  and  they  did  not 
^vish  what  they  said  to  be  overheard.  It  seemed  that 
they  were  doctors,  and  had  been  upon  a  ]n'ofessional  visit, 
to. determine  the  sanity,  or  otherwise,  of  a  certain  person 
lying  under  accusation  in  jail.  They  could  not  agree 
upon  the  matter;  but  their  arguments  were  so  technical 
and  scientific,  that  I  could  scarcely  understand  them. 
One  thought  that  he  could  advocate  the  plea  of  insanity, 
and  the  other  thought  that  he  could  uot ;  but  both  agreed 
that  thcv  should  l)e  G:reatlv  influenced  bv  the  success,  or 
otherwise,  of  a  certain  stratagem  which  they  had  planned 
that  day.     You  comprehend  me,  Mary  dear  ?  " 

^^A  glass  of  sherry,  ladies  ?  "  inquired  a  female  attend- 
ant, leaning^  over  them  confidentially.  /'  Ladies  often 
take  a  glass  of  sherry  after  a  journey.  I  trust  that  the 
soup  is  to  your  liking.^' 

^'The  soup  is  excellent,"  replied  Eugenie,  quietly. 
"Bring  two  glasses  of  sherry,  if  you  please." 

The  sherry  M-as  brought,  and  thereby  freedom  from 
interruption  purchased. 

"  The  stratagem  was  this,  Mary.  They  affected,  this 
morning,  to  be  both  convinced  of  his  being  really  mad. 
'  These  fits  of  frenzy,^  said  they  to  some  third  person — 
the  governor  of  the  jail,  I  think — but  so  as  to  be  just 
Avithin  the  prisoner's  hearing;  ^  these  paroxysms  are  quite 
conclusive  ;  the  one  thing  that  strikes  us  as  unnatural  is, 
that  they  only  take  place  in  the  daytime.  The  true 
lunatic  is  almost  invariably  as  violent  at  night  as  day.' 
The  doctors  are  convinced  that  the  prisoner  overheard 
them,  and  did  so  furtively;  whether  with  a  mere  mad- 
man's cunning,  or  vrith  the  intention  of  making  use  of  the 
information,  remains  to  be  seen.     If  he  passes  to-night 


F  O  R  E  ^V  A  R  X  E  D      A  X'  D 

quietly,  it  will  be  well  for  him ;  but  if  he  behaves  other- 
wise than  usual,  he  will  be  set  down  as  an  impostor. 
You  understand  me,  Mary  ?  " 

Ay,  she  understood  her.  She  would  have  taken  the 
slightest  hint — have  filled  up  all  that  was  wanting  in  the 
merest  skeleton  of  suggestion  upon  such  a  subject.  The 
thought  that  struck  her  brain,  and  flushed  her  cheek,  and 
kept  her  silent  when  she  should  have  answered,  was  one 
of  shame.  How  mean,  how  contemptible  were  these 
deceptions,  notwithstanding  the  necessity  that  compelled 
them  !  She  did  not  feel  them  upon  her  own  account,  but 
upon  Frederick's.-  How  frank  and  open  had  his  nature 
always  been  !  How  scornful  even  of  conventionalities, 
far  more  of  deceit !  How^  genuine  and  bright  and  free  ! 
When  she  had  said  "  Let  us  not  leave  England,"  it  was 
because  she  feared  what  falsehood,  what  exaggerations, 
wdiat  shameful  things  might  be  said  against  him  as  a 
fugitive.  His  honor  seemed,  then,  almost  as  dear  to  her 
as  his  life.  Perhaps,  too,  convinced  that  he  was  incapa- 
ble of  actual  crime,  she  had  persuaded  herself  that  his 
innocence,  so  far,  at  all  events,  as  intention  went,  would 
be  established  at  his  trial.  How  impossible  would  it 
have  then  appeared  to  lier  that  he  could  ever  have  been 
placed  in  such  a  position  as  the  present — he,  her  gen- 
erous, high-souled,  open-hearted  husband,  to  be  playing 
the  hypocrite  in  vonder  jail,  to  save  himself  from  a  felon's 
fate ! 

^'Do  you  understand,  Mary  dear?"  repeated  Eugenie. 

"  I  understand,"  answered  she.  "  How  good  it  was  of 
you,  in  your  great  trouble,  to  hasten  thus — " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  that,  Mary  ;  my  trouble  is  heavy, 
but  it  is  light,  light  as  a  feather  compared  with  yours ; 
and  I  have  been  the  cause  of  yours — yes,  partly,  Mary — 
although,  God  knows,  the  unwilling  cause.  I  gave  that 
bouquet  to  Mr.  Galton  to  give  to  you,  which  my  wretched 
husband  imagined  was  for  himself.  He  should  never 
have  been  my  husband,  Mary  ;  never,  never.  That  is 
my  crime,  and  from  it  all  this  misery  has  come.    I  would 


424  :irABRiED    beneath    him. 

that  I  could  bear  it  all  myself.  I  am  not  punished  as  I 
deserve,  Mary,  as  you  are  not  rewarded.  Do  not  look 
upon  me  so  pitifully,  for  I  have  not  earned  your  pity. 
Moreover,  I  am  not  so  unhappy  as  I  have  been,  except 
for  that  one  terror  that  wrings  your  heart.  If  all  goes 
well,  as  it  is  believed  it  will,  you  will  have  him  soon 
again,  Mary;  I  .am  telling  you  no  untruth,  be  sure; 
and  when  that  has  happened,  I  shall  be  happy ;  yes,  by 
contrast,  happy.  When  my  father — when  I  am  left 
quite  alone,  there  is  a  religious  house  near  Florae,  in 
Lozere,  which  will  receive  me.  Do  not  fear ;  it  is  not 
a  convent,  where  no  news  can  come  from  those  we  love ; 
but  a  home  fit  for  an  erring  soul  like  mine,  that  cannot 
give  itself  wholly  up  to  God  even  now.  My  sister, 
whom  your  brother  saved,  is  buried  there.  Kiss  me, 
Mary.  Tell  him — though  he  will  know  it  well — that  I 
can  read  his  soul,  how  pure  it  is  of  this  foul  stain.  I 
must  never  see  him  more  in  this  world ;  but  if  death 
spares  me — and  death  is  very  cruel,  taking  away  those 
lo  whom  life  is  dear,  and  leaving  such  as  I — I  trust  we 
two  shall  meet  again  I  *' 

"  I  trust  so  too,^lear  Eugenie ;  God  grant  it  may  be 
upon  a  time  less  wretched  than  this  in  which  we  part." 


CHAPTER    XLYI. 

PUBLICITY. 

IT  is  a  just  boast  among  persons  of  the  literary  pro- 
fession, that  not  one  of  their  respectable  order  has 
ever  been  hung.  The  mind  at  once,  of  course,  reverts  to 
Dr.  Dodd  ;  but  he  was  a  clergyman,  and  applied  himself 
solely  to  the  production  of  theological  works.  I  do  not 
advance  the  njonstrous  proposition  that  no  writer  ever 


PUBLICITY.  425 

did  or  does  deserve  to  be  hung.     There  \yas  Mr.  W.,  fur 
instance,  an  agreeable  periodical   humorist — he  used  to 
write  in  the  London  Magazine^  under  a  nom  de  jjlime — 
and  who  murdered   at -least  six  persons,  mostly  females. 
Bat  then  he  was  not  tried  for  wilful   murder.     He  suf- 
fered transportation  at  the  hands  of  five  insurance  com- 
panies, which   had   declined   to   reward   tlie  forethought 
wherewith  he  had   provided  for  the  possible  demise  of 
his  victims.     The  rarity  of  even  such  a  secondary  offence 
as  fraud  in  a  professor^f  literature  aroused  an  immense 
interest  in  this  gentleman's  fote.     His  works,  which,  be- 
tween ourselves,  were  nothing  remarkable,  were  greatly 
sought  after  in  consequence,  and  all  the  people  that  had 
ever  dined  in  his  company— at  Holland  House  and  else- 
where— acliieved  social   successes  so  long  as  the  excite- 
ment lasted.     Yet   Mr.  W.'s  misfortune   never  affected 
the  general   public   nearly  so  much   as  did  that  of  Mr. 
Frederick  GaltonV    The 'circulation   of  the  ForciqAne, 
ten  times  that  of  the  London  2Iagazine  in  its  best  days, 
was  more  than  doubled    by  the  calamity  of  its  young 
contributor.     The  Baihj  Democrat  promised  to  its  sub- 
scribers a  supplement  that  should  be  solely  confined  to 
the  report  of  Ids  trial.    The  illustrated  papers  despatched 
their  artists  ''  special "  down    to    Casterton,   and    Leck- 
hamsley  Round^attained  epiite  a  Metropolitan  reputation. 
There  'was  wood   enough   consumed   in  ''  cuts "  of  poor 
Dr.  Galton's  homely  mansion  to  have  built  a  gallows-tree 
for  his  unhappv  son.  A  carte  de  visite  of  Mrs.  Harto})p,  as 
she  sat  with  her  back  to  the  window  of  the  housekeeper's 
Poom — she  never  stirred  out  now — was  obtained  by  an 
enterprising  photographer,  and  had  a  wonderful  sale  at 
two-and-six. 

All  the  correspondents  of  the  cheap  press  found  them- 
selves in  exclusive  possession  of  particulars  concerning 
the  Galton  familv.  The  fact  of  the  existence  of  Minim 
Hall  began  to  be  noised  abroad  for  the  first  time,  and 
gave  the  neatest  occasion  to  the  Democrat  for  a  pyro- 
technical   exposition  of  university  abuses  and  shortcom- 


426  MARRIED     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

ings.  Tlie  circumstances  of  the  living  of  Casterton  being 
sequestered  (as  poor  jNIr.  Morrit  used  to  call  itj,  did  not, 
on  that  account,  escape  observation,  but  the  reverse ;  and 
the  "interim  incumbent  and  uncle  of  the  accused,''  made 
a  very  prominent  figure  in  the  indictment.  The  Home 
Secretary  was  harassed  night  and  day,  for  admission  to 
a  private  interview  with  the  prisoner  by  a  man  who  was 
commissioned  to  model  him  in  wax  for  the  Room  of 
Horrors. 

Conceive  how  terrible  were  all  these  things,  or  even 
the  echoes  of  them,  to  those  who  really  loved  poor  Fred- 
crick!  How  he  himself  imagined  them  all  in  his  soli- 
tary cell,  and  gnashed  his  teetli  with  anguish.  How  Mr. 
Morrit's  nature  shrank  from  them  as  from  some  physical 
blow,  notwithstanding  his  utter  scorn,  for  those  from 
whom  they  emanated.  He  was  not  a  man  to  take  that 
sort  of  morose  pleasure  which  some  men  do  in  undergo- 
ing the  consecjuences  of  their  own  errors;  the  cup  of 
i)itterness  had  no  expiatory  attraction  for  him,  but  was 
drained  with  shuddering  and  repugnance.  And  yet  he 
o^vned  that  he  was  much  to  blame  for  what  had  hap- 
pened. Had  he  made  his  nephew  such  an  allowance  as 
vras  suitable  from  the  first,  the  Galtons  and  the  Meyricks 
would  have  stood  upon  the  same  social  level,  or  nearly 
so,  and  would  have  been  intimate  or  not,  according  to 
circumstances.  There  would  have  been  no  mad  jealousy 
engendered  in  John  Meyrick's  brain,  or,  at  least,  it  would 
not  have  been  brought  to  the  bitter  birth  by  that  secret 
visit  of  Eugenie  to  Somers  Town ;  or,  if  the  curate  did 
not  guess  so  much  as  that,  he  knew  that  but  for  him 
Mary  would  have  been  a  guest  at  M.  de  Lernay's  upon 
that  fatal  night,  as  well  as  her  husband,  when  no  mis- 
chief could  possibly  have  occurred.  Xow,  however,  it 
seemed  as  if  Mr.  Morrit  could  never  do  enough  to  ex- 
press his  sorrow  for  the  past,  not  only  in  the  way  of 
pecuniary  expenditure,  personal  exertions,  and  the  like, 
but  w^hat  was  really  some  sacrifice  to  hira  still,  in  the 
self-abnegation  of  all  family  pride  and  social  superiority. 


PUBLICITY.  427 

He  had  always  had  a  genuine  respect  fur  widow  Perlino- 
and  her  daughter,  even  when  their  existence  had  been 
most  obnoxious  to  him,  and  their  common  misfortune 
now  knit  the  three  together  in  its  loving  bond.  To 
Mary  he  was  always  making  sonie  practical  apoloo-v  for 
his  former  treatment  of  her,  in  delicate  and  thoughtful 
service.  Any  shyness  or  embarrassment  which  the  poor 
girl  might  have  experienced  in  the  sudden  change  of  her 
relations  with  tlie  curate,  was  rendered  impossible  bv 
the  circumstances  of  the  case  ;  the  vastness  of  her  trouble 
swallowed  up  all  minor  things,  and  she  accepted  the 
homage  of  this  rebel  knight  quite  naturally,  as  though 
he  had  never  borne  arms  against  her  cause,  or  refused 
to  pay  her  due  allegiance.  It  was  touching  to  remark 
how  he  strove  to  keep  out  of  tiie  sight  and  hearing  of  the 
little  family  all  evidence  of  the  publicity  attaching  to 
Frederick's  condition,  although  he  might  have  spared 
his  pains ;  first  because  nothing  could  stop  the  tongue 
of  ]Mrs.  Gideon  ;  and  secondly,  because  the  three  in  ques- 
tion cared  less  about  what  the  world  was  saying  than 
the  world  could  possibly  have  guessed.  The  thoughts 
of  widow  Perling  and  Jane  were  occupied  Avholly  with 
prayers  and  fears  for  their  beloved  Mary,  upon  whom 
such  unparalleled  woe  had  fallen  in  God's  inscrutable 
Avisdom ;  and  the  mind  of  Mary  herself  never  straved 
for  one  single  instant  from  the  great  problem  of  "How 
was  Frederick's  life  to  be  saved?''  The  time  had  now 
arrived  for  this  to  be  solved. 


428  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM.' 

CHAPTER    XLVII. 

FOR   THE   PROSECUTION. 

SELDOM  had  that  squalid  space  in  front  of  the  Old 
-  Bailey  been  filled  by  such  a  fashionable  throng,  as 
pressejcl  about  it  on  the  morning  of  the  trial,  of  Frederick 
Galton ;  one  would  have  thought,  by  the  stream  of  car- 
riages, that  Her  Majesty's  servants  had  temporarily 
transferred  themselves  during  alterations  i4i  tlie  Hay- 
market,  to  Justice  Hall,  and  were  giving  a  morning  per- 
formance there.  Tickets  of  admission  to  the  court  were 
sought  after  as  though  they  had  been  passports  to  Para- 
dise, and  many  a  Peri  —  for  so  'interesting''  a  case 
attracted  numbers  of  the  softer  sex — besieged  that  Eden 
gate — opening  from  the  ghastly  courtyard  wherein  the 
scaffold  is  housed — and  went  away  disconsolate,  since 
tears  themselves  could  not  avail  them. 

"The  court  'olds  five  'undred  to  'ear,  and  eight 
'undred  to  suffocate,  and  the  eight  'undred  is  already 
there,"  was  the  grim  rejoinder  of  the  doorkeeper  to  all 
entreaties.  "Why,  no  wonder,"  he  added,  "as  'ow  this 
'ere  place  is  called  the  pressyard,"  a  professional  jeu 
(V  esprit,  which  earned  for  him  in  that  appreciative 
neighborhood  the  reputation  of  a  joker  for  life.  Those 
persons,  on  the  other  hand,  who  would  far  rather  have 
l)8en  anywhete  else  than  in  that  hall  of  doom,  were 
obliged  to  be  present  as  witnesses.  Mary  herself,  too, 
was  there,  breathless,  but  firm,  behind  her  thick  crape 
veil,  and  sister  Jane  sat  beside  her,  pale  and  trembling. 
Frederick  Galton  was  pale  enough,  but  he  did  not 
tremble,  and  when  the  indictment,  with  its  terrible 
words  was  read,  he  pleaded  "  Not  guilty "  in  low  but 
steady  tones. 

Mr.  Creeps,  Q.C.,  opened  the  case  for  the  prosecution 
vrith  his  usual  impressiveness.     He  stated  that  it  was 


FOR     THE     PROSECUTION.  429 

totally  unnecessary  for  him  to  advert  to  the  painful 
interest  which  the  circumstances  upon  which  he  was 
about  to  dwell  had  excited  in  the  ])iiblic  mind,  to  the 
position  which  the  accused  had  held  in  society,  and  to 
the  place  he  had  occupied,  notwithstanding  his  extreme 
youth,  in  the  literature  of  the  day.  It  was  an  immense 
relief  to  him  (the  learned  counsel)  that  at  least  it  did  not 
devolve  upon  him  to  lay  to  the  charge  of  the  prisoner  at 
tlie  bar  the  foul  crime  of  wilful  murder ;  the  prosecution 
had  decided  that  there  were  no  grounds  for  pressing  that 
accusation.  It  would  have  been  a  terrible  thing,  he 
owned,  to  have  had  to  fix  upon  a  fellow-creature,  so 
young,  so  favored  by  nature  herself  to  please  the  eye,  the 
mind,  and  the  heart — it  would  have  been  a  dreadful 
mission,  indeed,  he  repeated,  to  have  had  to  press  against 
such  an  individual  an  accusation  which,  if  proved,  must 
have  resulted  in  his  execution  in  front  of  yonder  prison. 
Yet,  if  he  had  been  so  instructed,  that  mission  must 
have  been  fulfilled;  and  now,  when  he  had  still  to  urge 
a  very  Aveighty  accusation  against  this  unhajipy  youth — 
the  crime  of  manslaughter — he  intended  to  discharge  his 
duty,  painful  as  it  was;  and  he  most  solemnly  warned 
the  Jury  there  impanelled  in  defence  of  the  dearest 
interests  of  society,  to  do  their  duty  too,  and  not  to  be 
swayed  by  sympathy  or  sentiment,  which,  however 
natural  and  even  creditable  to  them  in  other  situations, 
would,  in  their  present  position  as  jurymen,  be  at  once 
pernicious  and  criminal. 

It  had  never,  alas !  been  his  lot  to  conduct  a  case  more 
conclusive  than  the  one  now  confided  to  his  charge 
The  chain  of  evidence  was  unbroken  throughout,  and 
led  directly  to  the  prisoner  at  the  bar.  Almost  always, 
in  similar  cases,  the  testimony  was  of  a  more  or  less  cir- 
cumstantial kind,  but  in  the  present  a  witness  would  be 
brought  forward,  who,  himself  unseen,  had  actually 
beheld  with  liis  own  eyes  the  struggle  which  had  resulted 
in  the  death  of  the  deceased  at  the  hands  of  the  accused 
person.     Under  such  circumstances,  there  "-^^  i^^  i^'^rd 


430  31  A  H  R  I  E  D     BENEATH     HIM. 

tliat  any  '^  motive"  for  commission  of  the  crime  should 
be  established  against  the  prisoner;  he  should  therefore 
not  enlarge  upon  the  painful  fact  that  the  deceased  and 
the  accused  had  once  been  intimate,  but  had  of  late  been 
upon  the  worst  of  terms  with  one  another ;  and  more-  / 
over,  whether  rightly  or  wrongly,  that  the  deceased 
entertained  the  gravest  suspicions  of  the  conduct  of  the 
prisonef  with  relation  to  his  (tlie  deceased's)  wife.  His 
learned  friend,  he  perceived,  was  about  to  take  exception 
to  this  statement;  but  when  he  added  that  Mrs.  Meyrick 
herself,  the  w^idow  of  tlie  deceased,  would  presently  be 
called  in  corroboration — not,  indeed,  of  the  reasonable- 
ness of  those  suspicions,  but  of  the  fact  of  their  existence 
— he  concluded  that  his  learned  friend  would  consider 
silence  to  be  his  better  course.  Finally,  he  was  not  in  ii 
position  to  anticipate  the  defence  that  would  be  set  up  in 
the  prisoner's  behalf  by  his  learned  friend;  but  if  that 
defence  was  (as  it  was  whispered  to  be)  that  he  w^as  iiot 
responsible  for  his  actions,  then  the  jury  n.iust  be  well 
persuaded,  before  admitting  such  an  audacious — con- 
sidering all  the  circumstances,  he  had  almost  said  such  a 
desperate  plea,  that  the  prisoner  was  laboring  from  sucli 
a  defect  of  reason  as  not  to  know  the  nature  of  the  act 
he  was  committing;  or  if  he  did  know  it,  that  he  was 
not  aware  that  he  was  doing  wrong. 

After  stating  the  main  facts  of  the  case,  of  which,  like 
everybody  in  the  court,  we  are  ourselves  aware,  Mr. 
Creeps  proceeded  to  call  the  identical  witnesses  who  had 
given  evidence  before  the  coroner's  jury.  The  only  one 
of  these  to  whom  any  questions  were  put  in  cross- 
examination  was  the  homeless  beggar.  He  had  been  . 
supplied  w^ith  somevrhat  more  decent  garments  than  he 
wore  upon  his  appearance  before  the  coroner — for  other- 
wise, it  would  have  been  necessary  that  all  the  beauty 
and  fashion  should  have  left  the  court — but  his  counte- 
nance was  not  at  all  less  hao-o-ard,  thouo;h  his  clothes  were 
less  ragged,  nor  his  behavior  less  like  that  of  a  hunted 
criminal.     The  judge,  the  police,  the  jury,  the  barristers, 


FOR     THE     PROSECUTION.  431 

the  attorneys,  were  to  him  only  different  species  of  a  race 
whose  hand  had  been  ever  against  his  own,  and  not 
seldom  twisted  in  his  neck-cloth,  from  the  gutter  which 
had  been  his  cradle,  until  now.  He  glared  upon  them 
with  mingled  ferocity  and  wonder ;  he  felt  himself  in  a 
false  position ;  with  the  dock  he  was  familiar  enough, 
but  the  witness-box  was  altogether  a  noveltv  to  him. 
He  seemed  to  think  every  question  was  directed  to  trip 
him  up,  to  establish  the  fact  that  it  was  high  time  that 
he  should  be  marched  off  and  put  into  prison  uniform, 
and  fed  through  a  hole  in  a  cell  door,  as  usual.  He  had 
been  out  of  jail  for  nearly  six  months. 

If  the  intention  of  Mr.  Griffiths  had  been  to  show 
that  his  client  had  not  committed  the  deed  laid  to  his 
charge,  here  was  an  admirable  opportunity.  Here  was  a 
witness  whom  it  would  have  been  the  easiest  work  in  the 
world  to  turn  inside  out;  but  that  not  being  the  learned 
counsel's  object,  he  resisted  the  temptation,  notwith- 
standing that  his  forensic  mouth  watered  to  do  it,  and 
only  manipulated  the  poor  fellow  a  little  to  see  how  he 
would  mould.  His  observant  eye  had  detected  a  change 
in  the  beggar's  glance  when,  wandering  from  one  part  of 
the  court  to  the  other,  like  a  frightened  bird  that  seeks 
an  outlet,  it  had  Jallen  upon  Frederick  Galton.  This 
man  was  then  at  all  events  favorable  to  his  client's  cause. 
"  ]\Iy  good  man,"  observed  Mr.  Griffiths,  when  the  poor 
wretch  had  finished  his  evidence,  "  when  you  first  saw 
from  your  resting-place  behind  the  tree,  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar  come  across  the  park,  did  you  observe  anything 
peculiar  in  his  manner?'' 

"My  good  man"  dropped  his  eyes  a  moment,  like  one 
who  is  used  to  look  for  inspiration  from  beneath  rather 
than  from  above,  and  responded  curtlv :  "Well,  yes,  I 
did,  sir." 

"Ah,  you  did,  did  you  ?  Xow  please  to  tell  the  court 
how  the  prisoner  looked — how  he  behaved  himself." 

"  Well,  he  come  very  slow,  and  every  now  and  then 
he  stop,  and   mumbled  at  the  nosegav  as  he  'eld  in  his 


432  :M  A  E  E  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H      HI  M  . 

'and.  Then  he  ^YOu^d  take  off  his  'at,  and  the  hair 
would  blow  back  his  ^air  like  .  the  picture  over  the 
Hangel  at  'Ampton ;  and  he  talked  as  though  there  was 
somebody  by,  the  likes  of  Avhich  I  never  see  before, 
unless  when  a  cove's  asleep.  Then,  when  the  other  party 
come  up  all  of  a  sudden  and  grabbed  at  his  throat,  I 
thought  this  party  would  have  gone  right  off — he  looked 
so  scared." 

"You  mean  that  you  thought  he  would  have  fainted." 

"Ay,  just  so.  I  should  think  he  jumped  a  foot  or 
two  in  the  hair.  Then  the  other  party  loosed  his  'old 
to  snatch  at  the  flowers,  and  this  here  chap  he  wouldn't 
give  them  up,  and  to  it  they  went;"  here  Mr.  Griffiths 
indulged  in  a  premonitory  cough,  and  the  witness  did 
not  conclude  his  sentence  with  "  'ammer  and  tongs,"  as 
he  had  intended. 

"Very  good;  we  know  all  that,  my  good  man;  but 
when  the  contest  terminated,  how  did  the  prisoner  behave 
then  ?  You  have  seen  a  good  many  ^ rough  and  tumbles ' 
in  your  life,  my  friend,  I  dare  say ;  now  how  did  he  be- 
have— of  course,  he  would  be  excited  under  such  circum- 
stances— but  did  he  behave  as  a  person  who  has  gained 
the  upper  hand  in  such  a  conflict  generallv  does  be- 
have?" 

"  Certainly  not,  sir;  he  behaved  more  like  a  fool  in 
my  judgment.  Instead  of  sticking  atop  o'  the  other 
chap  and  keeping  his  'ed  well  under  water,  he  got  away 
from  him  directly  he  felt  hisself  was  loose,  and  ran  away 
across  the  park,  all  wet  and  drippin',  and  his  eyes  half 
out  of  his  'ed,  for  all  the  world  like  a  mad  fellow." 

Re-examined  by  Mr.  Creeps  as  to  whether  the 
mumbling  at  the  nosegay  "was  not,  in  point  of  fact, 
si  mply  kissing  it ;  "  "  my  good  man  "  replied  that  it  was  not. 

The  footman  of  the  deceased  deposed  to  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Frederick  Galton  left  his  master's  house  a  little 
after  daybreak  upon  the  morning  in  question,  with  a 
bouquet  in  his  possession. 

He  could  not  favor  ^Ir.  Creeps  with  the  information 


FOR     THE     PROSECUTION.  433 

as  to  whether  it  was  his  mistress's  bouquet  or  not.  He 
did  not  know  as  to  the  bouquet-holder.  The  prisoner 
was  not  carrying  the  bouquet  in  his  hand,  but  in  his 
pocket.  As  far  as  witness  knew,  it  was  customary  to 
carry  bouquets  in  the  liand  only. 

Cross-examined  by  ^Ir.  Griffiths. — The  flowers  were 
peeping  out  of  the  front  pocket  of  the  prisoner's  summer 
coat.  There  was  no  attempt  to  conceal  their  presence 
there — certainly  not.  The  prisoner  was  very  much  ex- 
cited, indeed  ;  yes,  extraordinarily  so  ;  quite  out  of  him- 
self, as  one  might  say. 

Re-examined  by  Mr.  Creeps. — M.  de  Lernay,  the 
father-in-law  of  deceased,  had  been  seized  with  paralysis 
during  supper,  less  than  an  hour  before,  and  in  the 
presence  of  the  prisoner.  That  was  not  sufficientr*in  his 
(the  w^itness's)  opinion  to  produce  extraordinary  ex- 
citement. 

"  Call  Eugenie  Meyrick,"  said  Mr.  Creeps.  At  the 
mention  of  this  name  there  was  wliat  the  French  call 
'^  agitation  "  in  the  court.  Silken  garments  rustled  every- 
where as  their  wearers  turned  themselves  towards  the 
witness  for  a  long  and  steady  inspection  of  the  deportment 
of  their  sister  under  her  grievous  trouble.  All  had  heard 
of  her ;  many  had  seen  her,  the  brightest  ornament  of  a 
brilliant  scene;  some  had  even  taken  her  hand  and 
smiled  their  thanks  as  they  departed  from  her  own  roof 
after  "  a  delightful  evening."  The  Bar,  who  had  their 
speculations  as  to  what  Creeps  could  make  of  her,  ceased 
to  make-believe  to  be  studying  their  own  briefs,  and  left 
off  drawing  caricatures  of  the  ^^good  man"  self-appro- 
l)riated  by  Mr.  Griffiths,  in  order  to  concentrate  their 
attention  upon  the  fascinating  and  fashionable  widow. 
Even  the  judge  settled  his  gold  spectacles  upon  the  ridge 
of  his  nose  with  greater  solicitude  than  usual,  so  that 
no  necessity  for  alteration  in  that  important  particular 
might  presently  withdraw  his  attention  from  the  coming 
witness. 

"May  we  ask  you  to'  raise  your  veil,  madam?"  ob- 

27 


434  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

served  Mr.  Creeps,  assuming  an  expression  of  great 
blandness.  To  some  hearts  within  the  court  he  seemed 
to  speak  like  a  surgeon  who  requests  that  the  patient 
should  bare  his  limb  as  a  preliminary  to  amputation ; 
but  to  the  majority  his  request  afforded  unmitigated 
satisfaction.  It  might,  of  course/ have  been  desirable 
that  the  jury  should  see  her  features,  but  half  the  attrac- 
tion of  the  show  would  have  been  lost  did  not  the  specta- 
tors see  them  too. 

Eugenie  had  never  looked  so  beautiful ;  and  yet  so 
woful,  that  the  man  must  have  had  a  hard  heart  who 
regarded  her  beauty  rather  than  her  woe. 

'^  You  are  the  widow  of  the  deceased  John  Meyrick — 
are  you  not,  madaui  ?  '^ 

"I  am."  Her  voice  was  low,  but  could  be  heard  to 
the  utmost  extremity  of  the  court  as  plainly  as  that  of 
the  crier. 

"How  long  have  you  known  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar?" 

"About  two  years." 

"  You  knew  him  when  he  was  at  college,  did  vou  not  ?" 

"I  did." 

"You  met  him  occasionally  at  dinners,  picnics,  and 
the  like;  and  he  sometimes  came  to  your  own  house, 
and  spent  a  morning  or  an  afternoon  with  you  alone?" 

"  I  met  him  several  times  at  the  table  of  Dr.  Her- 
mann, the  principal  of  his  college.  I  have  been  at 
water-parties  in  his  company,  perhaps,  half-a-dozen 
times.  He  has  passed  several  mornings,  and,  doubtless, 
several  afternoons,  at  my  father's  invitation,  in  our  house, 
and  sometimes  my  father  was  not  present." 

"  Upon  your  engagement  with  your  late  husband,  the 
prisoner's  visits,  however,  and,  in  fact,  his  intimacy  with 
you  altogether,  were  discontinued?" 

"At  the  time  of  my  engagement  Mr.  Galton  left  the 
university,  and  came  to  reside  in  London." 

"Did  he  leave  in  consequence  of  your  engagement?" 

"  Certainly  not." 


FOE     THE     P  E  0  S  E  C  r  T  I  O  X  .  435 

"  Previous  to  your  acquaintanceship  with  the  prisoner, 
\vere  the  deceased  and  he  on  terms  of  intimate  friend- 
ship?^' 

"  They  had,  I  believe,  been  playfellows  together  as 
boys.  I  do  not  think  they  were  ever  what  could  be 
called  friends/' 

"AYhy  not?" 

"Their  dispositions  and  pursuits  were  totallv  dif- 
ferent." 

''  You  think,  perhaps,  that  there  was  too  great  an 
inequality  of  merit  between  them?" 

"  I  do.'" 

"And  that  the  superiority  did  not  lie  upon  the  side 
of  your  husband?" 

The  witness  did  not  reply. 

"At  all  events,  their  intimacy,  whether  it  was  friend- 
ship or  not,  ceased  altogether  when  you  became  en- 
gaged?" 

"  It  had  ceased  before." 

"  But  not  before  they  had  both  known  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  not." 

"'After  your  marriage,  your  husband  often  expressed 
himself  in  violent  terms  against  the  prisoner — in  a  word, 
whether  with  or  without  cause,  he  was  jealous?" 

"'  He  w^as  jealous  without  cause." 

"  Unknown  to  your  husband  you  one  day  went  to 
Somers  Town,  I  believe?" 

"I  did. 

"In  order  to  see  the  prisoner?"  . 

"  Xo ;  I  went  to  see  his  wife." 

"  Had  you  been  previously  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Galton's  ?" 

"Xo."* 

"Had  vou  ever  seen  her  before  in  all  vour  life?" 

"Xo."' 

"Then  what  induced  you  to  undertake  an  expedition 
which  you  could  not  but  be  aware  would  be  displeasing 
to  your  husband,  to  visit  a  per^n  with  whom  you  bad 
no  previous  acquaintance  ?  " 


436  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

"  I  decline  to  state/' 

Sensation  in  court,  during  whicli  ]Mr.  Creeps  consulted 
with  his  attorney. 

^'  I  shall  not  press  the  question,  madam,  although  I 
have  full  power  to  do  so — unless,  indeed,  by  the  answer, 
you  must  needs  have  criminated  yourself.  Well,  although 
you  did  not  go  to  Somers  Town  v.-ith  the  intention  of 
seeing  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  you  did  see  him,  did 
you  not?" 

"I  did  see  him." 

"  He  afterwards  walked  with  you  a  portion  of  the  way 
home,  I  think  ?" 

"  He  did." 

"  Was  your  husband  ever  Aware  of  this  visit  of  yours  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say."  The  witness  added,  with  effort :  "  To 
the  best  of  my  belief  he  had  made  himself  aware  of  it." 

"You  did  not  tell  him  yourself,  however,  at  all 
events?" 

"  I  never  exchanged  a  word  with  him  from  the  time 
of  that  occurrence  until  his  death." 

"What!  you  went  to  Somers  Town  on  the  17th  of 
June;  your  husband  returns  home  that  night,  or  the 
next  morning — " 

"He  is  brought  home  intoxicated,"  observed  the 
judge,  referring  to  his  notes. 

"  Very  true,  my  lud — thank  you,  my  lud — but  is  it 
possible,  madam,  that,  although  in  his  dressing-room, 
which  adjoins  your  own  apartment,  the  whole  of  that 
next  day,  you  never,  even  addressed  one  another  ?  " 

"  We  never  saw  one  another  at  all." 

"  He  was  then  so  transported  with  rage  and  jealousy 
— doubtless  exaggerated  by  drink — that  he  would  not 
even  speak  to  you ;  nor  would  he  take  part  in  the  fes- 
tivities which  were  being  held  in  his  own  house  upon 
the  evening  in  question?" 
Eugenie  made  no  reply. 

"  Is  it  not  true,  madam,  that  his  feelings  had  been  so 
excited  as  even  to  cause  him — during  the  very  period  in 


FOR     THE     P  R  O  S  E  C  U  T  I  0  X .  437 

which  these  festivities  were  occurring — to  attempt,  or  at 
least  to  make  preparations  for  attempting,  self-destruc- 
tion?" 

"  No." 

"But  we  have  it  in  evidence.  Your  own  maid  has 
deposed  to  the  fact,  that  a  silken  rope,  with  a  slip-knot 
in  it — a  bejl-rope  from  your  own  room,  I  think  it  was — 
was  found  coiled  under  his  pillow,  upon  the  very  bed 
where  he  had  been  lying  so  long.  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  he  had  not  intended  to  use  that  rope  for  the 
purpose  of  suicide  ?  " 

"  Yes.'^ 

"Whv,  what  else  could  he  have  proposed  to  do 
with  it?" 

She  had  sworn  to  speak  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth.  If  she  did  so,  her  reply 
would  be:  ''I  believe  that  my  husband  intended,  with 
that  rope,  to  strangle  not  himself,  but  me."  Yet,  what 
good  could  such  a  declaration  effect  for  anybody  ?  and 
what  incalculable  pain — if  it  was  believed  at  all— would 
it  produce  in  the  rude  but  honest  old  squire  at  Casterton, 
and  in  that^  childless  mother,  for  whom  John  Meyrick 
himself  had  kept  one  sound  spot  to  the  last  in  his  cor- 
rupted heart  ?  Perhaps,  too,  respect  for  that  great  city 
of  refuge.  Death,  to  which  the  poor  wretch  had  fled,  bade 
her  spare  his  memory. 

"  I  incline  to  the  belief,"  said  she,  "  that  my  late  hus- 
band rather  wished  people  to  imagine  that  he  intended 
to  commit  suicide,  than  seriously  contemplated  such  an 
act  in  his  own  mind." 

This  was  true — for  John  Meyrick  would  have  been 
about  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  hang  himself  volun- 
tarily— but  it  was  not  the  whole  truth. 

The  audience,  which  had  been  upon  the  tiptoe  of  ex- 
pectation for  some  horrible  surmise,  settled  down  again, 
relieved,  but  disappointed.  Mr.  Creeps  himself,  too, 
looked  a  little  balked. 

"  I  will  not  prolong  an  ordeal,"  said  he,  "which  can- 


438  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

not  but  be  very  painful  to  you^  madam,  much  further; 
but  with  respect  to  this  bouquet-^you  presented  -it,  I  be- 
lieve, to  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  with  your  own  hand?" 

"  I  did,  sir." 

"  You  were  upon  the  point  of  going  abroad,  madam — 
were  you  not — when  you  received  the  summons  to  attend 
this  court  as  a  witness?" 

^^  I  was,  sir." 

Mr.  Creeps,  with  one  intelligent  glance  at  the  jury, 
resumed  his  seat. 

Mr.  Griffiths  rose. 

"  What  was  the  cause  of  your  being  about  to  leave  this 
country,  Mrs.  Meyrick?" 

''  My  father's  dangerous  illness.  He  was  advised  to 
start  for  the  south  of  France  immediately,  and  he  could 
not  do  so  without  me." 

'Mnd  with  respect  to  this, bouquet,  of  which  so  much 
has  been  made,  are  we  to  understand,  as  my  learned 
friend  has  left  it  to  be  understood,  that  you  presented  it 
to  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  as  a  gift  from  you  to  him?" 

"  I  gave  it  to  him  in  order  that  he  might  take  it  home, 
and  present  it  to  his  wife  from  me." 

Re-examined  by  Mr.  Creeps. — Supposing  that  such 
was  your  intention,  madam — that  you  intended  to  send 
these  flowers  to  a  lady  whom  you  had  only  seen  once  in 
your  life,  by  the  hand  of  her  husband,  Vv'ith  whom  you 
were  on  terms  of  intimacy — do  you  not  think  it  possible 
that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  might  have  flattered  himself 
that  the  bouquet  vras,  in  fact,  for  himf'^ 

"  Xo,  sir ;  or  if  he  did — "     She  paused. 

"  Well,  madam — well,"  repeated  Mr.  Creeps,  like  one 
upon  the  very  verge  of  a  great  discovery. 

"  If  he  did,"  replied  Eugenie,  calmly,  "  he  must  have 
been  mad  indeed," 


FOR     THE     DEFENCE.  439 

CHAPTER    XLYIII. 

FOR   THE    DEFENCE. 

THE  case  for  the  prosecution  being  closed,  Mr.  Grif- 
fiths rose  and  said :  "  It  does  not  lie  in  my  power^ 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  to  rebut  the  evidence  brought  for- 
ward against  my  unhappy  client,  so  far,  at  least,  as  it 
relates  to  the  personal  encounter  between  him  and  the 
deceased,  and  it  does  not  lie  in  my  intention.  That  he 
is  amenable  to  the  present  charge  does  not  admit  of  any 
argument,  nor  is  it  difficult  to  guess,  with  almost  minute 
exactness,  how  the  unhappy  deed  was  wrought.  My 
learned  friend  has  very  properly  told  you  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  lay  a  charge  of  wilful  murder  against  the 
accused.  He  might  have  added,  that  it  would  be  equally 
impossible  to  convict  him  of  anything  graver  than  that 
of  justifiable  homicide,  which,  as  you  are  well  aware,  is 
no  offence  at  all.  The  conflict,  which  resulted  so  fatally 
for  himself,  was  evidently  thrust  by  the  deceased — mad- 
dened with  groundless  jealousy,  and  hate,  and  drink — 
upon  the  prisoner  at  the  bar.  I  say  jealousy,  because  my 
learned  friend  has  chosen  to  bring  this  painful  feature  of 
the  case  before  your  notice,  with  the  object  of  prejudicing 
my  unhappy  client.  My  client  is  as  innocent  of  that 
social  crime  which  has  been  hinted  at,  as  of  the  more 
serious  charge  which  the  prosecution  has  been  compelled 
to  abandon.  I  deny  that  any  ground  of  jealousy  existed, 
once  for  all.  I  might  have  disproved  it,  had  it  been 
necessary;  and  if  I  had  thought  that  the  virtuous  and 
admirable  demeanor  of  the  last  witness  could  have  been 
lost  upon  so  intelligent  a  jury,  I  would  have  done  so; 
but  I  did  not  do  so,  because,  in  my  cross-examination  of 
Mrs.  Meyrick,  I  must  have  elicited  many  distressing 
facts  concerniuGC  her  late  husband.     I  did  not  do  so,  I 


440  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

repeat,  only  because  I  wished,  as  far  as  possible,  to  spare 
the  Diemory  of  the  dead. 

'^  Why,  then,  it  will  be  asked,  did  not  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar,  having  been  thus  groundlessly  attacked,  and 
having,  in  self-defence,  been  compelled  to  slay  his  adver- 
sary, being  conscious  of  the  commission,  I  do  not  say,  of 
no  crime,  but  even  of  no  misdemeanor — why,  it  will  be 
asked,  did  not  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  at  once  repair  to 
the  nearest  police-station — situated  in  the  very  direction, 
too,  which  it  has  been  proved  he  did  take  after  the  com- 
mission of  the  presumed  offence — and  describe  the  occur- 
rence, with  all  those  circumstances,  which  we  have  heard 
from  an  eye-witness  did  actually  take  place — why  did  he 
not  do  this?  I  will  tell  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury; 
it  was  because  he  was  mad — because  he  was  unaware  of 
v.hat  he  did,  or  what  he  omitted  to  do.  If  he  was  sane, 
what  would  happen  to  him  even  now — to-day?  At  the 
worst  a  few  months',  or,  more  likely,  a  few  days'  im- 
prisonment ;  at  the  best,  and  most  probably,  acquittal  as 
having  committed  a  justifiable  homicide.  Can  you  sup- 
pose, then,  that  I  should  be  instructed  to  defend  him 
from  so  trifling  a  peril  on  such  a  ground  as  insanitv, 
which,  if  allowed,  might  consign  him  to  a  life-long  im- 
prisonment, unless  my  unhappy  client  were  really  and 
truly  insane — unaccountable  for  his  actions.  AVould  not 
the  defence  proposed  be  worse  in  its  consequences  than 
the  worst  punishment  which  it  was  designed  to  elude  ? 
Surely,  the  consideration  of  this  fact  might  alone  con- 
vince you  that  the  plea  which  I  have  to  urge  must  needs 
be  genuine.  I  shall  bring  forward,  however,  other  evi- 
dence— the  direct  testimony  of  personal  friends  and  rela- 
tives, which,  of  itself,  will  be  amply  sufficient  to  establish 
that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  has  been  long  deprived  of 
his  reason  to  such  an  extent  as  to  render  him  not  answer- 
able to  the  laws.  I  shall  also  bring  forward  medical 
evidence  of  the  most  unimpeachable  kind.  Finally,  I 
sliall  prove  the  existence  of  insanity  in  the  prisoner's 
fainilv.     Any  one  of  these  arguments  would,  I  conceive, 


FOR     THE     DEFENCE.  441 

be  sufficient  to  convince  you  tliat  my  unfortunate  client 
is  legally  irresponsible  for  the  deed  laid  to  his  charge, 
but  their  cumulative  testimony  is  such,  that  I  cannot 
imagine^1  mind  so  obstinate  or  so  obtuse  as  to  be  capable 
of  resisting  it. 

^'  It  will  doubtless  be  urged  by  my  learned  friend,  that 
the  eminence  which  the  accused  has  earned  for  himself  at 
such  an  early  age  in  periodical  literature,  militates 
strongly  against  the  plea  which  I  have  been  instructed 
to  urge  on  liis  behalf;  but  I  need  not  tell  you  that  per- 
sons of  genius,  and  especially  of  literary  genius,  are  most 
liable  to  the'  dread  infliction  of  madness,  and,  indeed,  are 
seldom  capable  of  taking  care  of  themselves  or  their  own 
affairs.  Xay,  it  will  be  seen,  that  at  an  early  age  this 
very  literary  faculty  of  the  accused  was  manifested  in  a 
manner  which,  while  it  evidenced  some  talent,  gave  still 
stronge?  indications  of  a  diseased  and  morbid  brain.  I 
beg  to  call  the  jury's  earnest  heed — although  I  fear  the 
most  rapt  attention  will  b^;  .thro^^^l  away  in  so  far  as  de- 
tecting any  meaning  in  the  lines  is  concerned — to  these 
verses  in  the  prisoner's  own  handwriting,  composed  about 
the  age  of  seventeen,  and  believed  by  him  even  now 
(poor  fellow!)  to  be  pregnant  with  intelligence  and  sug- 
gestiveness.  Tliey  are  headed  'A  Frequent  Thought/ 
so  that  it  was  obvious  that  the  condition  of  mind  was  re- 
current— habitual,  in  fact — in  which  such  midsummer 
madness  had  been  penned 

'  When  the  doors  have  dosed  behind  us,  and  the  voices  died  away, 
Do  the  singers  cease  their  singing,  and  the  children  end  their  play? 
Bo  the  words  of  wisdom  well  no  more  through  the  cairn  lips  of  age  f 
Are  the  fountains  dried  whence  the  young  draw  hopes  too  deep  for  the  faith 

of  the  sagef 
And,  like  the  flower  that  closes  up  when  the  east  begins  to  glow. 
Both  the  mniden's  beauty  fade  from  off  her  tender  cheek  and  brow? 
Are  they  all  but  subtle  spirits  changing  into  those  and  these, 
To  vex  us  with  a  feigned  sorrow,  or  to  mock  us  while  they  please? 
All  this  world  a  scene  phantasmal,  shifting  aye  to  something  strange, 
Such  as,  if  but  disenchanted,  one  might  mark  in  act  to  change, 
See  the  unembodied  beings  that  we  hold  of  our  own  kind. 
Friend  and  Joe,  and  kin  and  lover,  each  a  help  to  make  us  blind, 


442  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

Set  to  icaich  our  lonely  hours,  ambushing  about  our  path,  ^ 

That  our  eyes  may  never  open  till  their  lids  are  closed  in  death  ; 

And  when  so  closed,  will  these  things  be  as  though  we  had  n^er  been  boi^, 

And  e'en  without  those  tears  which  are  dried  swift  as  the  dews  by  the  morn, 

That  makes  us  feel  these  fancies  more,  so  strange  doth  it  appear, 

Hovj  the  memory  of  a  dead  man  dies  with  those  he  held  most  dear. 

As  though  there  was  an  end,  with  life^  of  the  mockery  that  beguiles 

Our  every  act,  tricks  out  our  woes,  and  cheats  us  of  our  smiles, 

And  makes  to  love,  and  scorn,  and  hate,  and  parts  and  reconciles.' 

"Gentlemen  of  thejiirv^  we  have  caused  twelve  copies 
of  this  most  extraordinary  production  to  be  printed, 
which  will  be  placed  in  your  hands,  lest  you  may  imag- 
ine that  any  latent  meaning  in  the  verses  may  have 
escaped  you  through  my  delivery  of  them.  What  woulcl 
have  been  your  state  of  mind,  I  ask,  upon  finding  that 
any  son  of  your  own — of  whom,  too,  you  had  entertained 
high  hopes — had  composed  such  a  piece  of  writing  ? 
Fine  pieces  of  poetry  have,  before  now,  been  composed  by 
poets  absolutely  insane,  and  even  in  confinement,  but 
Avhen  has  there  been  such  a  jDJece  of  poetry  as  this,  com- 
posed by  a  sane  mind  ?  I  have  said  that  no  meaning 
whatever  can  be  found  in  it ;  but  I  correct  myself  thus 
far,  and  own  that  there  is  this  much  to  be  gathered  from 
it — the  incontestable  fact  of  the  insanity  of  the  writer. 
I  will  put  aside  the  inexplicable  allusions  to  the  singers 
and  the  children,  the  fountains  and  the  flower,  and  even 
the  totally  unexpected  reference  to-the  maiden  (Good 
Heavens  !  what  maiden  ?)  and  confine  myself  to  the  men- 
tion of  the  '  subtle  spirits,'  changing  into  '  those  and 
these'  (these  what?)  and  mocking  him — the  prisoner  at 
the  bar.  Why,  way  not  this  notion  of  being  haunted  by 
spirits  one  of  the  most  common  forms  of  mental  delu- 
sion?    As  for  this  world  being  nothing  but  a  'scene 

phantasmal ' the  time,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  has 

arrived  when  it  is  customary  for  the  court  to  take  some 
slight  refreshment,  and  I  will  not  detain  you  any  longer 
over  a  subject  upon  which  you  are  as  capable  of  exer- 
cising as  sound  a  judgment  as  myself.  The  question, 
could  a  sane  man  write  such  verses?  is  not  one  which 


WHAT     one's     friends     THINK.  443 

requires  any  technical  knowledge  of  any  sort  to  answer 
it,  but  demands  a  reply  in  the  negative  from  every  per- 
son endowed  with  common  sense," 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

WHAT   one's    friends    REALLY    THINK   OF   ONE. 

AFTER  an  adjournment  of  half  an  hour,  the  court 
resumed   its   sittinos^  mid  the  following  witnesses 
were  called  by  Mr.  Griffiths : 

The  Rev.  Robert  ]SIorrit  deposed. — Tlie  prisoner  at 
the  bar  is  my  sister's  son.  I  have  had  a  very  intimate 
acquaintance  with  him  up  to  within  the  last  two  years. 
He  was  singular  in  his  habits  and  behavior;  something 
more  than  merely  eccentric.  He  was  exceedingly  clever, 
but  remarkably  deficient  in  judgment.  His  nature  was 
singularly  gentle,  kind,  and  humane :  but  he  was  subject 
to  fits  of  passion.  Nothing  could  control  these  ebulli- 
tions; even  when  he  was  quite  a  child.  Although  a 
tolerable  scholar,  an  insatiable  reader  of  books  of  a  cer- 
tain sort,  he  took  great  pleasure,  even  up  to  the  age  of 
seventeen,  in  trolling  a  hoop.  He  would  sometimes 
amuse  himself  in  that  manner  for  an  entire  day.  The 
books  that  he  studied  for  his  own  pleasure  were  of  an 
imaginative  -kind — poetry,  romances,  and  the  like.  He 
wrote  a  great  deal  of  poetry,  and  much  of  it  was  similar 
to  that  entitled  'The  Frequent  Thought,'  read  in  court/ 
(as  he  understood)  that  day.  He  (witness)  was  well 
acquainted  with  English  j^oetry,  and  he  had  never  read 
anything  at  all  like  his  nephew's  poetry  in  any  other 
author.  It  was  not  the  poetry  of  a  sane  man.  A  rela- 
tive of  the  prisoner,  one  Mr.  Thomas  ^lorrit,  had  gone 
out  of  his   mind.     He  was  the  prisoner's  cousin.     He 


444  MARRIED     B  E  >^  E  A  T  H     H  I  :M  . 

Yv^as  under  confioement  at  the  present  moment  in  a 
lunatic  asylum.  He  (witness)  bad  not  been  intimate 
with  the  prisoner  at  tbe  bar  within  the  last  two  years. 
The  intimacy  had  been  intermitted  through  the  unreason- 
able conduct  of  the  prisoner,  and  upon  no  other  account. 
Plaving  been  intrusted  by  the  late  Dr.  Galton  with  the 
control  of  his  son's  money  affairs,  he  liad  not  thought 
himself  justified  in  allowing  him  such  an  income  as  lie 
would  have  allowed  him  had  he  behaved  in  a  less  eccen- 
tric manner.  The  conduct  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  had 
been  unreasonable  in  many  respects.  He  had  declined 
to  belong  to  his  father's  profession,  though  greatly  urged 
to  do  so,  and  though  the  circumstances,  in  case  he  did, 
were  particularly  favorable.  He  would  not  attach  him- 
self to  any  profession.     He  had  married  beneath  him. 

Cross-examined  by  Mr.  Creeps. — By  the  expression 
married  beneath  him,  he  did  not  mean  that  he  had 
merely  made  an  ineligible  match;  it  was  a  match  that 
no  man,  however  young  and  inexperienced,  but  being 
sane,  could  have  been  expected  to  have  made.  He  (wit- 
ness) had  often  expressed,  before  the  unhappy  circum- 
stances which  gave  rise  to  the  present  trial  had  occurred, 
that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  was  mad.  He  had  stated  it 
in  so  many  words.     He  had  also  heard  others  do  so. 

The  next  witness  was  much  affected  while  giving  her 
evidence,  and  had  to  be  accommodated  with  a  chair. 

Ann  Hartopp  deposed. — Had  known  Master  Freddy 
— the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  if  she  must  call  him  that — 
ever  since  he  was  born.  He  was  always  a  most  lovable 
child ;  everybody  loved  him  as  came  near  him.  He 
would  never  have  hurt  a  fly,  even  in  his  worst  tantrums; 
she  meant  by  "tantrums,"  ungovernable  fits  of  passion; 
often  and  often  she  had  laid  him  doAvn  upon  the  carpet, 
with  a  pillov/  under  his  darling  head,  and  let  him  wear 
hisself  out  with  tantrums;  that  was,  of  course,  -when  he 
was  a  very  little  boy.  He  was  always  what  would  be 
called  queer;  very  queer,  indeed.  He  would  run  about 
the  house  pretending  he  was  a  steam-engine,  and  telling 


WHAT     O  X  E    S     FRIENDS     T  H  I  X  K  .  445 

people  to  .shunt  themselves  out  of  the  way.  He  used  to 
write  a  great  deal  of  poetry  to  her  (witness)  at  one  time, 
and  it  always  made  her  cry.  She  did  not  know  that  it 
was  pathetic.  She  had  never  understood  a  word  of  it, 
and  had  shown  it  to  lots  of  people  as  didn't  understand 
it  neither. 

Cross-examined  by  Mr.  Creeps. — His  running  about 
the  house  like  a  steam-engine  occurred  when  he  was 
mora  than  a  little  boy.  Yes,  a  good  deal  more.  It 
occurred  withiu  a  year  or  so  of  his  being  married. 

Dr.  Hermann,  President  of  Minim  Hall,  deposed. — 
The  prisoner  at  the  bar  resided  at  Minim  Hall  as  an 
undergraduate  for  two  terms.  He  (wibiess)  had  had  many 
oj^portunities  of  observing  his  charact'^r.  it  was  truly 
excellent  in  all  respects.  His  intelligence  was  very 
acute,  but  there  were  striking  flaws  in  it.  He  (witness) 
did  not  know  whether  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  went  by 
the  nickname  of  Mad  Galton  among  his  fellow-students 
or  not ;  he  could  not  be  expected  to  be  cognizant  of  anv 
fact  of  that  nature;  but  in  his  own  judgment,  the  young 
gentleman  had  certainly  merited  such  an  appellation. 
His  manner,  when  not  unnecessarily  pronounced  and 
sprightly,  was  abstracted. 

Cross-examined  by  Mr.  Creeps.  —  He  had  known 
great  scholars,  who  were  almost  as  eccentric  as  the  pris- 
oner at  the  bar,  but  Mr.  Galton  was  not  a  great  scholar. 
He  did  not  know  that  what  was  but  eccentricity  in  a 
great  scholar  would  seem,  in  an  undergraduate,  to  be 
insanity. 

Sir  Geoffrey  Ackers  examined. — Was  intimate  with  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  during  all  his  college  career.  It  was 
a  very  short  one,  but  long  enough  to  have  made  itself 
remembered.  It  was  memorable  by  reason  of  its  eccen- 
tricity. His  opinions  were  very  ]3eculiar,  and  such  as 
(in  the  witness's  judgment)  could  scarcely  have  been 
entertained  by  a  sane  person  in  the  rank  of  life  of  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar.  His  political  expectations,  as 
expressed  in  his   speeches   at   the  Univ^ersity  Debating 


446  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

Society,  were  the  dreams  of  a  madman ;  they  were  not 
merely  what  is  called  visionary.  He  always  went  by  the 
name  of  Mad.  Galton  among  his  friends.  He  had  on 
one  occasion  called  at  witness's  iiouse  in  London,  and 
lunched  with  him,  and  although  the  girl  with  whom  he 
was  engaged  was  under  the  same  roof,  he  had  neither 
S2)oken  of  her  nor  made  any  effort  to  see  her.  He  had 
no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  was, 
in  his  (witness's)  judgment,  of  unsound  mind. 

Cross-examined  by  Mr.  CreejDS. — The  girl  to  whom 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  had  l^een  engaged  was  of  humble 
rank.  She  was  not  of  a  rank  to  >sit  down  to  luncheon  in 
the  dining-room  on  the  occasion  in  question — her  place 
was  in  the  housekeeper's  room.  The  prisoner  at  the  bar 
had  distinctly  inquired  for  her  of  the  footman  who 
opened  the  front  door ;  he  could  not  possil^ly  have  for- 
gotten the  circuDistances,  for  he  had  repeated  that  inquirv. 
Until  he  (witness)  had  been  in  possession  of  that  fact,  he 
had  thought  the  prisoner's  reticence  at  luncheon  had 
arisen  from  a  wish  to  conceal  his  engagement ;  he  was 
now  convinced  that  it  was  due  to  lunacy. 

Mr.  Percival  Potts  examined. — Had  known  the  pris- 
oner at  the  bar  both  before  and  after  his  marriage ;  ever 
since,  in  fact,  he  had  left  the  university.  Hf^d  alwavs 
thought*"  him  more  than  eccentric.  Believed  him  to  be 
the  victim  of  delusions.  Especially  remembered  one 
instance  of  delusion  which  came  under  his  notice  on  the 
first  occasion  of  his  acquaintance  with  the  accused.  They 
met  in  Hyde  Park  late  at  night,  not  far  from  the  very 
spot  where  the  unhappy  struggle,  which  produced  the 
present  inquiry,  had  taken  place — and  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar  had  besought  his  assistance  against  certain  rob- 
bers or  murderers,  by  whom  he  imagined  he  had  been 
attacked.  There  were  no  robbers  or  murderers.  In  the 
imagination  of  the  prisoner  there  was  also  a  little  child 
who  had  done  her  best  to  save  him  from  these  brigands, 
and  for  whom  he  felt  an  extravagant  gratitude ;  he  left 
at  his  lodgings  the  most  elaborate  directions  respecting 


WHAT     ONE    B     FRIENDS     THINK.         447 

the  manner  in  which  she  should  be  received  in  his 
absence,  and  expected  her,  day  after  day,  for  a  consider- 
able tirne.  Ko  such  little  child  ever  called  at  the  pris- 
oner's address,  or  "was  likely  to  call. 

Other  witnesses,  including  Mrs.  Gideon,  and  Mr. 
Jacob  Lunes  (who  gave  his  own  ideas  of  the  quotation 
from  King  Lear  which  he  had  overheard  from  under  the 
shepherd's  hurdle),  were  then  examined,  and  gave  cor- 
roboratory bat  less  important  evidence. 

Dr.  Beebonnet  deposed. — I  have  seen  the  prisoner 
several  times  during  his  confinement  in  Xewgate,  and 
conversed  with  him  upon  various  matters,  but  especially 
upon  the  subject  of  his  presumed  offence.  His  behavior 
was  certainly  not  feigned.  I  consider  him  to  be  decidedly 
an  insane  person.  He  informed  me  that  he  did  not  consider 
that  he  had  committed  any  crime  in  taking  the  life  of 
Mr.  John  ^leyrick.  He  was  not  referring  to  the  cir- 
cumstance of  his  having  killed  him  in  self-defence.  He 
spoke  with  great  calmness  and  deliberation.  At  times, 
when  he  could  not  have  been  aware  that  he  was  under 
observation,  he  became  much  excited,  and  would  conduct 
himself  almost  like  one  in  frenzy.  His  opinions  upon 
all  subjects  were  most  extraordinary  and  abnormal.  His 
ideas  upon  political  matters  in  particular,  he  (witness) 
should  designate — if  the  accused  had  been  a  sane  man — 
as  those  of  an  incendiary.  If  his  present  state  of  de- 
rangement existed  upon  the  18th  of  June  last  it  would 
be  likely  to  lead  to  the  commission  of  manslaugliter.  He 
should  describe  such  a  crime,  if  speaking  professionallv, 
as  being  the  consequence  of  a  "homicidal  climax."  It 
would  be  quite  possible  for  an  individual  so  far  lunatic, 
to  take  precautions  against  the  discovery  of  such  an 
offence :  even  a  precaution  which  jjresumed  so  much 
sagacity  as  that  of  putting  a  clock  back,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  procuring  an  alibi. 

Here  Mr.  Griffiths  blandly  observed :  "  That  will  do, 
Dr.  Beebonnet;"  but  Mr.  Creeps  bounded  up  like  an 
india-rubber   ball,    and    r'-'-'iir'-tr-rl    tbo    Ifarncl    doctor 


-140  M  A  ii  K 1  i:  ij    i^  z :;  i:  A  r  :i    hi  :.r. 

to  remain  wliere  he  was  and  answer  him  a  question  or 
two. 

The  great  expert  put  clown  his  hat  again — having 
indeed  cherished  but  small  hope  of  getting  away  so 
easily — and  regarded  his  natural  enemy  with  affable 
contempt. 

"  You  have  told  us/'  commenced  Mr.  Creeps,  *'  that 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  conversed  with  you  upon  the 
subject  of  this  tragical  crime,  with  calmness  and  deliber- 
ation. Are  vre  to  understand,  Dr.  Beebonnet,  that  you 
consider  such  behavior  to  be  any  proof  of  his  having 
a  diseased  intellect?" 

"I  consider  such,  behavior  to  he  a  strong,  though 
not  convincing,  sign  of  insanity." 

"Very  good,  sir;  and  when  you  detected  him  unawares 
conducting  himself  with  almost  frenzy — that  is  to  say, 
acting  in  a  diametrically  opposite  manner,  did  you  take 
that  to  be  a  strong  sign  of  his  insanity?" 

"  I  took  that  to  be  a  convincing  sign,"  responded  the 
doctor,  calmly. 

"I  think,  doctor,"  observed  Mr.  Creeps,  smiling,  "that 
it  would  be  extremely  difficult  for  any  one  of  us  to  per- 
suade you  by  any  course  of  conduct  that  we  could  pos- 
sibly adopt  under  your  official  investigation  that  ice  were 
sane.  Perhaps,  however,  you  will  kindly  inform  us 
what  you  mean  by  a  homicidal  climax?" 

"I  believe,"  observed  Dr.  Beebonnet,  with  deliber- 
ation, "that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  has  been  laboring 
under  homicidal  mania  for  a  considerable  time — it  may 
be  ever  since  the  period  of  life  at  which  the  disease  is 
generally  induced — and  that  an  uncontrollable  homicidal 
impulse  took  possession  of  him  upon  the  fatal  occasion 
in  question." 

"'  That  is  to  say,"  observed  Mr.  Creeps,  "  exactly  at 
the  moment  when  he  happened  to  be  uppermost  in  the 
struggle  between  himself  and  his  victim,  and  held  his 
life  in  his  hands." 

"  Preciselv  so,"  returned  Pr,  Beebonnet. 


W  IT  A  T     O  X  i: '  S     F  R  I  E  ^'  D  S     T  H  I  X  K  ,         449 

"You  have  told  ns  that  the  act  of  putting  a  clock  back 
after  the  commission  of  a  crime,  as  evidenced  in  the 
present  case  by  the  prisoner's  landlady,  in  order  to  evade 
suspicion,  or  to  ground  an  alibi,  is  by  no  means  incon- 
sistent with  a  mind  incapable  of  logical  conclusion. 
Xow,  if  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  had  not  put  the  clock 
back — if  he  had  taken  no  means  whatever  to  conceal  his 
offence,  would  you  not  consider  such  neglect  to  be  a 
strono;  evidence  of  his  beings  insane  ?  '^ 

''  It  would  be  a  strong,  but  not  a  convnicmg,  proof  of 
insanity,'^  replied  .the  unabashed  expert. 

"In*  point  of  fact,"  observed  Mr.  Creeps,  severely, 
"just  as  a  dilettante  in  a  picture-gallery  will  have  it  that 
he  alone  understands  wliat  is  beautiful,  and  that  the 
eyes  which  nature  has  given  other  people  can  see  nothing 
rightly  unless  they  borrow  his  spectacles,  so  do  you 
learned  doctors  assume  to  yourselves  the  monopoly  of 
deciding  on  the  sanity  or  otherwise  of  this  or  that  indi- 
vidual, although  to  the  rest  of  his  fellow-creatures  he 
may  always  have  shown  himself  as  wise  and  capable,  at 
least,  as  you  yourselves." 

"  I  thank*  you,  sir,"  returned  the  doctor,  urbanely, 
"for  having  stated  our  case  so  fairly.  Having  given  up 
our  lives,  like  the  connoisseurs  of  the  fine  arts  of  whom 
you  speak,  to  one  particular  pursuit,  we  do  assume  to 
know  something  more  about  it  than  the  great  mass  of 
mankind;  and"  [here  he  began  to  italicise]  especially 
than  those  persons  whose  self-interest,  often  in  antagon- 
ism to  their  judgment,  alone  induces  them  to  form  any 
opinion  upon  the  subject  whatever." 

Dr.  Crotchet  examined  and  deposed.  Had  had  inter- 
views with  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  in  conjunction  with 
the  last  witness,  but  had  formed  his  own  opinion.  His 
idea  had  certainly  at  first  been  that  the  accused  was 
feigning  madness,  or  at  least  was  more  than  willing  to 
be  considered  as  of  unsound  mind.  He  (witness)  had 
now  abandoned  that  theory ;  he  flattered  himself  it  was 
not  easv  to  make  him  abandon  anv  theory  except  upon 
*28 


450  MARRIED      BENEATH     HIM. 

strong  grounds.  Those  grounds  had,  in  his  judgment 
been  given,  on  the  result  of  a  certain  ordeal  which  the 
prisoner  had  unconsciously  undergone,  with  the  view  of 
testing  the  genuineness  of  his  malady.  He  (witness) 
had  no  longer  any  doubt  respecting  the  insanity  of  the 
prisoner. 

Cross-examined  by  Mr.  Creeps.— There  was  a  most 
important  difterence  betAveen  insanity  and  unsoundness 
of  mind ;  it  would  take  much  time  to  explain  the  dis- 
tinction, but  there  were  seven  volumes  extant  upon  that 
subject,  written  by  witness  himself,  wl\ich  might  be  said 
to  have  exhausted  it.  He  did  not  say  that  Mr.  Creeps 
could  not  do  better  than  purchase  them,  but  he  might 
unquestionably  do  a  great  deal  worse ;  he  would  not  say 
if  M]-.  Creeps  declined  to  purchase  them  that  it  would 
be  a  convincing  proof  of  his  unsoundness  of  mind  ;  he 
would  decline  to  swear  that  it  was  not  a  strong  proof. 
He  did  not  always  agree  with  Dr.  Beebonnet  upon  these 
species  of  cases;  he  did  not  agree  with  him  upon  the 
present  case.  He  thought  the  theory  of  homicidal 
climax  was  a  sheer  absurdity.  He  believed  that  the 
prisoner  had  committed  the  crime  iuiputed  to  him  in  a 
fit  of  insanity;  but  it  was  not  through  a  homicidal 
climax.  It  was  through  a  sudden  ^^suspension  of  the 
will."  He  (witness)  would  be  very  happy  to  deliver  his 
views  upon  the  suspension  of  the  will,  but  he  warned  the 
court  that  the  subject  was  an  abstruse  one. 

Mr.  Creeps  declined  to  trouble  him,  observing,  face- 
tiously, that  if  the  theory  of  suspension  of  the  will  was 
to  be  accepted  in  all  cases  of  capital  crime,  the  theory  of 
suspension  of  the  body  might  as  well  disappear  from  our 
penal  enactments. 

After  sitting  down  for  a  moment  or  two,  to  permit  his 
countenance  to  lose  the  elation  consequent  upon  this  jeu 
cV  esprit,  Mr.  Creeps  arose,  and  replied  on  the  part  of 
the  prosecution.  He  went  through  all  the  evidence  for 
the  defence,  with  abundant  comments  upon  its  weakness 
and  futility;   contending  that  the  testimony  of  the  pris- 


WHAT     one's     friends     THINK  451 

oner's  personal  friends  had  been  colored  by  a  natural 
wish  to  preserve  him  from  the  shameful  position  of  a 
felon,  and  intimating  that  their  very  plea  of  insanity — 
the  original  idea,  perhaps,  of  some  sagacious  attorney — 
had  suggested  to  them,  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives, 
that  Mr.  Frederick  Galton  was  not  as  sane  as  any  one  of 
them.  He  reviewed  the  medical  evidence  with  especial 
severity  ;  and  with  respect  to  "  The  Frequent  Thought," 
he  begged  to  observe  that  he  held  in  his  hand  a  copy  of 
a  publLshed  work  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  which  con- 
tained, besides  poems  of  great  beauty,  others  quite  as 
ridiculous  and  unmeaning,  as  the  verses  in  question.  It 
was  not  unusual  for  a  poetical  writer  to  write  obscurely. 
His  learned  friend  had  laid  a  great  stress  upon  this 
matter,  taking  it  for  granted,  perhaps,  that  all  the  gentle- 
men of  the  jury  were  not  entirely  conversant  with  mod- 
ern works  of  the  Imagination,  but  he  would  beg  to  read 
them  some  extracts  from  a  very  famous  poem,  called 
"Sordello,"  and  from  another  entitled  ''Balder,"  which  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  say  would  be  found  quite  as  inexpli- 
cable— 

Here  the  learned  judge  interposed  with  some  alacrity, 
observing  that  such  a  course  could  not  be  adopted ;  inas- 
much as  the  case  before  the  court  could  not  be  alfected 
by  the  sanity  or  insanity  of  the  authors  in  question. 

'  Whereupon  Mr.  Creeps  wound  up  his  observations 
with  an  appeal  to  the  native  intelligence  of  those  twelve 
gentlemen  whom  it  had  been  his  great  privilege  to 
address  upon  the  present  impoi-tant  occasion,  more  es- 
pecially directing  their  attention  to  the  standard  of  plain 
common  sense  which  they  were  there  to  ujjliold,  and  to 
the  well-being  of  society  of  which  they  had  been  ap- 
pointed body-guard.  The  judge  then  addressed  the  same 
unhappy  persons,  and  summed  up  the  whole  case  unfa- 
vorably (as  the  bar  considered)  for  the  prisoner's  plea. 

The  twelve  retired  to  consider  their  verdict,  and  re- 
mained for  hours  in  their  mysterious  seclusion.  Other 
cases  were   brought   on   before   another   twelve,  in  the 


452  MARRIED     BEXEATH     HIM. 

coiidact  of  which  Mr.  Creeps  exhibited  the  same  virtuous 
indignation,  when  employed  for  the  prosecution,  as  before; 
but  when  engaged  for  the  defence,  a  tender  sympathy 
with  menaced  innocence.  The  judge,  too,  performed  his 
duties  as  though  they  were  as  important  as  that  which 
he  had  already  executed.  But  the  audience  at  large 
waited  impatiently  to  learn  the  event  of  the  first  trial. 
Lights  were  brought  into  the  dingy  court-house;  but 
still  they  waited,  with  their  looks  nailed  to  the  door 
whereby  the  men  must  enter  for  whose  grave  decision 
they  had  so  long  tarried."  Tlie  witnesses  for  the  defence 
remained  in  a  room  apart,  and  with  them  Mrs.  Galton 
and  her  sister.  Mr.  Griffiths,  who  was  vastly  interested 
in  the  case,  came  in  and  out  every  quarter  of  an  hour, 
though  he  had  no  news.  He  declined  to  give  any  opin- 
ion upon  what  the  verdict  would  be,  but  it  was  evident 
that  he  feared  the  effect  of  the  judge's  charge.  At  last 
he  came  in,  rubbing  his  hands,  which  only  occurred  with 
him  at  a  certain  considerable  height  in  his  spirit-level. 
The  jury  had  sent  out  for  a  copy  of  "The  Frequent 
Thought,"  which  by  some  accident  had  not  been  supplied 
to  them ;  there  was  a  certain  carcass  -  butcher  among 
them,  whom  Mr.  Griffiths  felt  confident  of,  if  he  did  but 
read  that  poem  for  himself.  In  ten  minutes  from  that 
time  the  usherer  came  to  call  them.  The  jury  had  re- 
turned to  court,  and  were  about  to  deliver  their  verdict. 
The  carcass-butcher  looked  radiant  and  very  red.  He 
had  been  opposed  by  somebody  with  considerable  obsti- 
nacy, but  now,  at  least,  he  was  triumphant. 

"  We  find  Frederick  Galton  Not  Guilty,  my  lord,"  said 
the  foreman,  in  answer  to  the  usual  question,  "  upon  the 
ground  of  insanity." 

"  Those  verses  did  the  trick,"  observed  Mr.  Griffiths 
confidentially  to  his  friend  Mr.  Clene  Hans. 

The  muscles  of  the  attorney's  right  eye  quiv^ered  for  a 
moment,  but  he  made  no  audible  reply. 

"  Heaven  be  praised  !  "  exclaimed  the  curate,  devoutly. 

"All  that'now  remains  must  be  left  to  Pup — pup — 


REST    A  \  i •    15 1;    T  II  A  X  K  F  ['  L .  45;3 

pup,"  remarked  Mr.  Jonatlian  Johnson,  who  had  watched 
the  whole  proceedings  with  intense  interest. 

'^  Yes,  to  Providence ;  we  can  do  no  more,  I  suppose," 
sighed  the  curate. 

"  Must  be  left  to  Pup — i)up — pup — Potts,"  continued 
Mr.  Johnson,  as  though  nobody  had  made  any  interven- 
ing observation.  '^  He  is  well  in  with  the  ministry,  and 
has  asked  for  nothing  for  this  six  weeks  on  pup — pup — 
purpose  to  make  himself  heard  by  the  Home  Secretary." 

"  During  her  Majesty's  pleasure,"  murmured  Mary, 
repeating  the  last  words  of  the  judge,  like  a  child  who, 
having  mastered  its  first  lesson,  begins  to  commit  its 
second  to  memorv.  "  Can  I  see  him  t^-day,  uncle 
Robert?" 

Mr.  Morrit,  who  had  not  the  heart  to  say  "  Xo," 
looked  hesitatingly  towards  Mr.  Griffiths. 

''My  dear  madam,"  said  the  barrister  with  feeling, 
"I  think  it  would  be  better  to  make  no  such  application 
just  now.  I  make  no  doubt  that  constant  opportunities 
of  interview  will  soon  be  afforded  to  you;  and  1  entertain 
a  firm  hope  that  at  no  great  distance  of  time  your  husband 
will  be  restored  to  you  by  the  Crow^n." 


EEST   AXD    BE   THANKFTJL. 

MR.  GRIFFITHS  was  not  a  man  to  hold  out  false 
hopes;  and  his  prophecy  was  not  long  in  fulfil- 
ment. His  opinion  respecting  the  advantage  of  social 
position  was  not  perhaps  so  decided  as  that  of  Mr.  Sydney 
SnVith,  who  has  informed  us  that  the  British  law  is  open 
to  rich  and  poor  alike — Uhe  the  London  Tavern;  but  he 
was  well  aware  that  station  had  its  privileges  in  matters 


454  M  A  E  K  I  E  D     B  E  X  E  A  T  H     HIM. 

of  this  particular  nature.  Xor  is  this  fact  so  unjust  as  it 
appears  to  be.  That  the  superior  classes  suffer  under 
accusation  fiftyfold  more  than  those  who  are  content  to 
call  them  their  "betters,"  is  only  right  and  proper;  the 
chances  are  that  they  deserve  it  fiftyfold,  and  therefore 
their  punishment  should  be  in  nowise  decreased.  But 
what  would  be  the  use  of  giving  up  a  pauper  criminal 
lunatic  to  his  friends,  even  if  they  were  ever  so  desirous 
to  have  him — of  which  there  is  no  recorded  instance? 
Upon  the  other  hand,  what  could  her  Gracious  Majesty 
do  better  than  intrust  Frederick  Galton  to  the  custody  of 
his  wife  and  other  relatives,  about  to  reside  with  him  in 
a  secluded  valley  of  Switzerland,  removed  from  what  Dr. 
Crotchet  terms  (in  his  admirable  treatise  upon  '^suspen- 
sion  of  the  will")  "all  exciting  causes,"  and  far  from 
those  familiar  scenes  which  were  so  likely,  "through 
association  with  the  past,  to  superinduce  [in  the  very 
words  of  Dr.  Beebonnet]  a  homicidal  cliuiax."  Still, 
there  was  some  necessity  for  patience.  The  Daily  Demo- 
crat had  concluded  its  fiery  leader  upon  the  gross  mis- 
carriage of  justice  during  the  late  trial,  with  a  warning  to 
the  Home  Secretary  that  its  vigilant  eye  was  fixed  upon 
him,  and  would  watch  his  future  conduct  in  this  case 
with  a  jealous  but  unhappily  only  too  well-founded  suspi- 
cion, ^lany  dreary  months  dragged  their  slow  length 
along  before  Frederick  Galton  was  once  more  a  free 
man,  and  even  then  under  conditions.    • 

The  Dailij  Democrat  need  not  have  been  so  indignant, 
for  his  punishment  had  been  at  least  as  severe  as  he 
deserved.  I  do  not  say  as  his  crime  deserved,  for  he  had 
absolutely  committed  none  whatever.  Providence  some- 
times uses  mortal  statute-books  for  the  chastisement  of 
offences  against  which  mortals  have  enacted  no  law;  but 
there  is  no  miscarriage  of  justice  in  the  courts  of  Heaven. 
Xobody  is  more  aware  of  this  fact  than  the  culprit  hiui- 
self,  notwithstanding  that  toothers  he  may  seem  a  victim  ! 
To  many,  and  especially  to  those  who  knew  him  best, 
Frederick  Galton  did  appear,  even  when  he  had  obtained 


REST     AND      BE     THANKFUL.  45o 

his  much-grndged  liberty,  a  hardly  used  and  very  ill- 
starred  man.  Xot  a  few  of  them  regretted  that  the  plea 
upon  which  he  had  escaped  the  slur  of  crime  had  been 
used  at  all.  He  might  very  probably  have  escaped  with- 
out that  plea,  which,  whether  genuine  or  assumed,  must 
equally  be  his  ruin.  How  bitter  it  seemed  that  one  so 
youngs  and  yet  who  had  given  such  high  promise  of 
honorable  fame,  should  have  thus  wrecked  himself! 
Even  a  premature  death  would  have  been  preferable  to 
thi- — as  absolute  an  extinction  of  his  career,  but  one 
Avhich  did  not  leave  his  reputation  unsullied.  Frederick 
himself  was  fortunately  not  of  this  opinion.  True,  he 
was  young,  but  he  had  already  had  enough  of  a  number 
of  things,  of  which  a  continuance  of  the  life  he  had 
hitherto  led  could  only  give  him  more.  It  did  not 
wound  him  in  the  least  to  think  that  he  should  never 
play  the  part  of  a  London  succh  again.  He  had  recently 
had  an  opportunity  of  estimating  pretty  accurately  hovr 
little  that  sort  of  popularity  was  worth  ;  and  also  of  dis- 
covering how  beyond  all  price  is  the  affection  of  a  few 
true  hearts.  How  could  he  ever  have  fathomed  the  love 
of  Mary,  his  wife,  save  by  this  far-reaching  plummet  of 
adversity;  and  what  rarest  proofs  of  devotion  had  it 
brought  up — as  that  which  clings  to  the  lead  shows  the 
nature  of  the  anchorage — from  the  clear  depths  of  her  soul. 

Xo  smile  had  flickered  on  her  lips — nay,  not  a  tear 
(although  she  had  prayed  for  tears)  had  bedewed  her 
eyes,  from  the  hour  that  he  was  put  in  hold,  to  that  in 
which  she  clasped  him  imprisoned  in  her  loving  arms, 
but  a  free  man  once  more.  Then  she  smiled,  then  she 
wept,  as  one  who  has  reaped  reward  far  greater  than  her 
meed.  And  yet  she  had  toiled,  too :  toiled,  nay,  she  had 
slept  only  that  she  might  toil  for  him  the  more. 

In  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Yorder  Rhine,  and  not 
very  far  from  that  spot,  short  of  Diseutis,  where  the 
indifferent  char-road  ceases  altogether,  there  has  arisen  a 
small  but  comfortable  English  mansion.  Thither  (at  the 
time  I  write  of)  few  travellers  had  begun  to  penetrate^ 


4o6  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

and  the  inns  in  the  neighboring  villages  were  described 
even  in  the  mellifluous  Murray  as  "  rough  ^'  or  "  of  ill 
repute;'^  while  even  now  the  place  is  one  of  the  most 
secluded  in  Switzerland.  Still,  not  only  when  the  laugh- 
ing Rhine  leaps  down  from  the  sunny  pastures  of  the 
Oberalp,  to  seek  the  clustering  cherry-trees  of  Somvix, 
or  the  shadow  of  the  woods  of  Truus,  but  when  it  rages, 
swollen  by  the  snows  of  winter,  that  English  home  has 
not  only  its  wonted  tenants,  but  even  its  visitors.  Its 
tenants  are  not  a  few.  Besides  the  master  of  the  house, 
and  his  still  lovely  wife,  and  their  boy,  about  whose 
educational  future  domestic  councils  have  already  begun 
to  be  held,  there  are  Mrs.  Perling  and  her  daughter  Jane. 
Xever  did  man  and  his  mother-in-law  dwell  so  peaceably 
together  as  do  Frederick  and  the  widow ;  she  would  as 
soon  think  of  interfering  in  the  affairs  of  his  household, 
as  of-  dictating  the  policy  of  the  Swiss  Confederation ; 
while  it  is  impossible  that  she  can  ever  vex  him  in  that 
happy  valley  by  travelling  in  a  third-class  carriage,  even 
though  a  railway  should  be  projected  in  the  locality  by  a 
board  of  Directors  sitting  at  Colney  Hatch.  Whatever 
she  does  is  right  in  the  eyes  of  the  neighbors,  and  it  is 
even  said — her  daughter,  Mrs.  Galton,  being  held  to  be 
a  sort  of  princess,  whose  attire  it  would  be  idle  to  emulate 
— that  Mrs.  Perling  sets  the  fashions  to  the  majority  of 
the  Eomansch  (female)  population.  She  had  never 
acquired  their  dialect,  nor  is  it  probable  that  she  ever 
will  do  so,  but  she  speaks  (and  acts)  the  common  language 
of  charity  and  benevolence,  and  everybody  understands 
her  very  well.  She  does  not  regret  Oldborough,  for  it 
was  only  because  it  held  her  dear  ones  that  she  loved  it, 
and  now  they  are  both  with  her  under  the  same  roof. 
The  homely  life,  the  Cjuiet  scenes,  are  very  pleasing  to 
her;  and  the  only  alloy  of  her  happy  life  is  avalanches. 
These  alarming  occurrences  she  considers  preventable, 
and  no  such  things,  she  is  firmly  convinced,  would  ever 
have  been  permitted  in  England — no  matter  in  what 
geological  era, 


REST     AND     BE     THANKFUL.  467 

Sister  Jane  imagines  herself  to  be  in  an  earthly  Paradise. 
All  her  dreams  of  natural  beauty  are  realized  in  stream 
and  forest,  in  upland  and  ravine.  She  lives  out  of  doors, 
^Yhenever,  that  is,  her  presence  is  not  needed  within  them, 
for  her  chiefest  pleasure  is  still,  as  always,  to  make  herself 
useful  to  other  people.  Xext  to  his  mother.  Master  Fred- 
erick Galton — the  second!  Ah  me  !  the  years,  the  years 
they  glide  away ! — next  to  his  mother,  I  say,  the  boy 
loves  aunt  Jenny,  although  he  is  dearly  fond  of  papa  too. 
Fond,  too,  he  is  of  uncle  Robert,  although  that  gentle- 
man often  leads  him  to  the  fountains  of  Greek  literature, 
when  he  would  much  rather  seek  the  Rhine  stream  with 
his  fishing-rod;  nay,  more,  although  he  urgently  recom- 
mends that,  when  the  proper  time  arrives,  the  youth  shall 
be  sent  to  one  of  the  English  universities — if  not  to  Cam- 
ford,  then  (at  least)  to  Oxbridge.  It  was  impossible  that 
the  curate  should  reside  any  longer  at  Casterton — not  a 
stone's  throw  frovn  the  Grange.  He  visits  England  occa- 
sionally, but  his  home  is  with  his  nephew  and  niece.  It 
is  very  pleasant  to  see  him  strolling  slowly  with  her  up 
the  gorge  towards  the  Oberalp  on  any  summer  afternoon; 
he  insists  upon  it,  every  hundred  yards  or  so,  that  they 
have  now  arrived  at  one  of  the  points  where  the  view  is 
to  be  admired,  and  pauses  to  survey  it  at  leisure.  The 
fact  is,  he  is  out  of  breath,  for  reasons.  He  says  that 
the  Romansch  bread  is  very  nasty  (in  which  opinion  I 
agree  with  him),  and  finds  the  staff  of  life  in  boxes  of  bis- 
cuits from  Messrs.  Huntley  and  Palmer;  but  the  fact  is, 
the  curate  is  ^'Banting."  It  is  impossible  to  mistake 
that  well-preserved  comfortable-looking  British  divine 
for  one  of  those  ecclesiastics  in  the  Disentjs  Monastery, 
with  whom,  however,  he  is  on  the  best  of  terms.  He 
has  not  much  in  common  with  them,  and  especially  (he 
thanks  Heaven)  not  his  meals ;  but  he  has  got  to  under- 
stand their  barbarous  Latin  at  last,  which  Dr.  Hermann, 
travelling  {en  garco'n)  last  year  in  that  locality,  was  quite 
unable  to  do.  Mr.  ]\Iorrit  has  no  twenty-j)ort  left  to 
give  them,  but  they  immensely  appreciate  Minim  Hall 


458  MARRIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

audit  ale.  They  believe  Mrs.  Galton  to  be  altogether 
too  good  and  beautiful  to  be  suffered  to  die  a  heretic  ; 
but  although  she  has  once  or  twice  attended  their  some- 
what tawdry  little  valley  churches,  she  has  only  been 
heard  to  express  herself  with  enthusiasm  in  favor  of 
their  monastery  bell,  the  tone  of  which  is  certainly 
admirable. 

Every  year  she  makes  a  pilgrimage  to  another  religious 
house,  at  Florae,  in  Lozere,  and  stays  a  week  with  Eugenie 
de  Lernay,  who  has  resumed  her  maiden  name.  No  male 
was  ever  admitted  among  the  sisterhood  save  once,  when 
Master  Frederick  accompanied  his  mother  by  special  in- 
vitation, and  vras  received  with  rapture;  stay;  I  am  wrong; 
another  exception  was  made  long  ago  for  Eugenie's  sake. 
M.  de  Lernay  was  laid  by  the  side  of  his  dead  daughter 
and  the  faithful  Kathleen,  in  the  God's  acre  of  the  convent. 
There  slie  hopes  to  be  laid  herself  in  God's  good  time, 
but  not  earlier.  The  widow  of  John  Meyrick  must  needs 
be  happy  by  comparison  with  liis  wife,'  but  Eugenie  is 
happy  in  the  positive  degree.  The  scenes  about  her 
remind  her  of  the  dead  whom  she  has  loved  most  in 
this  world;  and  of  those  who  are  yet  alive  and  dear  to 
her  she  hears  good  tidings  brought  by  a  feitliful  messen- 
ger. She  rarely  weeps  unless  when  Mary  departs  after 
her  periodical  visit.  Then  her  heart  follows  lier  upon 
the  road,  and  she  pictures  her  return  to  husband,  and 
child,  and  home;  and  perhaps  the  involuntary  painter 
sheds  a  bitter  tear  or  two,  because  such  things  have  been- 
denied  to  herself  Still,  although  we  cannot  honestly 
end  our  story,  like  some  more  fortunate  clrroniclers,  with 
the  assurance,  that  all  our  favorites  '^  lived  very  happy 
afterwards,^'  yet  they  have  little  to  complain  of,  while 
the  remembrance  of  what  they  have  endured  and  escaped 
from  makes  their  contentment  the  greater. 

Casual  tourists  who  enjoy  Frederick  Galton's  liospi- 
tality  in  the  summer-time,  express  their  wonder  that 
such  a  radiant  talker  and  keen  thinker  can  consent  to 
dwell  in  the  wilderness ;  but  their  remark  is  at  least  an 


REST     AND     BE     THANKFUL.  459 

e%'idence  that  lie  has  not  lost  his  high  spirits.  His  lot  is 
surely  as  enviable  as  that  of' the  most  popular  '^diner- 
out/'  who  at  the  end  of  his  butterfly  existence  publishes 
his  "Reminiscences  of  Men  and  Things."  He  roams 
over  the  Rhcetian  Alps  with  a  step  almost  as  bnovant  as 
that  with  which  he  nsed  to  tread  the  breezy  Downs  at 
home  long,  long  ago — the  Downs  that  retain  no  vestige  of 
him  nor  his,  save  a  little  white  cross,  with  W.  G.  upon 
it,  on  the  spot  where  his  father's  nneventful  days  were 
hurried  to  their  close,  and  a  simple  grave  in  Casterton 
chnrchyard,  kept  green  and  flowering  by  hands  that 
stretch  across  the  sea.  I  can  myself  witness  to  his  being 
a  genial  host  and  a  might}'  climber  of  the  mountain- 
tops;  neither  will  it  be  a  breach  of  confidence  to  say 
that  the  Porcupine  has  by  no  means  lost  its  most  bril- 
liant contributor. 

It  was  in  company  with  the  editor-in-chief  of  that 
periodical,  and  of  his  friend  Mr.  Percival  Potts — very 
frequent  visitors  to  the  valley  of  the  Torder  Rhine  at 
all  seasons — that  I  last  saw  Frederick  Galton.  A^'e  had 
been  his  guests,  and  he  and  his  wife  accompanied  us  far 
upon  our  way  as  we  climbed  the  gorge  that  leads  to 
Andermatt.  They  did  not  part  from  us  till  we  had 
reached  the  high' pasture-lands,  and,  for  my  part,  I  felt 
very  sad  to  have  to  say  good-by.  Xever  had  I  met  a 
host  so  agreeable,  nor  a  hostess  altogether  so  charming. 
How  I  envied  them,  as  they  turned  and  took  their  way 
back  to  their  happy  valley,  arm  linked  in  arm  !  As  for 
us  we  were  bound  for  London  and  the  great  world,  where 
no  such  sights  are  to  be  seen. 

"I  tell  you  what.  Pup — pup — pup — Potts,"  observed 
Mr.  Jonathan  Johnson,  looking  after  them,  and  returning 
the  last  flutter  of  Mrs.  Galton's  handkerchief  with  his  own. 

""V^'ell,  what?"  returned  Potts,  who  was  waving  his 
hat,  in  melancholy  reply  to  the  white  signal. 

"I  tell  you  what,  Pup — pup — pup — Potts,  depend 
upon  it  that,  after  all,  our  friend  Galton  never  mur — 
mur — mur — " 


460  MAEEIED     BENEATH     HIM. 

"  Never  murdered  anybody ! ''  interrupted  Potts,  testily 
— ^^of  course,  he  didn^t." 

"Depend  upon  it/'  repeated  >Ir.  Jonathan  Johnson 

persistently,  "  that  our  friend  Galton  never  mur — mur 

*  Married  beneath  hira/  after  all." 

'^ Married  beneath  him!"  echoed  Potts,  indignantly: 

^^That  icoman's  a  jyrincess,  if  ever  there  teas  one  J' 


THE   ^END, 


^^r^K  THE  I.AST  DATE 
THIS  BOOK  IS^ED  EELO^.^^,  „£ 

••gEi^iiLrr 


FEB  9 


fjgVi    1954r5 


-7, '30 


684785 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


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M&M. 


